What I Am
by TARDIS-BadWolf
Summary: In an parallel universe, the Doctor begins to piece together a life with Rose while struggling to come to terms with the reality of the meta-crisis, his hybrid existence, and a cocktail of Timelord history and his new human emotions. Was it always this hard to love her? 10-2 POV. Dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

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Damp. An odd word, and an ever odder feeling, one that suggested a unique state of wetness he was not sure he had experienced before. Although not wet enough to be considered soaked or sopping, it was wet enough to be uncomfortable. Even moist seemed a touch too wet a word for exactly the amount of water that had managed to creep into the fibers of his clothing, adding weight to and darkening the slim-cut navy blazer that clung to the bridge of his shoulders, but it was not a word that suggested being close to dry, either. No, being damp was somewhere between moist and dry; just wet enough to notice, but not enough to drip. Wet enough to draw in a chill, but lacking the full saturation that would bring on the sort of cold that could set your teeth to chattering. Beads of sea spray rolled down the back of his neck, teasing a trickle of moisture through his hair to slip beneath his collar.

He was damp, all over. It was a feeling he either truly had never experienced before, being that he lived his life in a state of extremes - beneath a couple of suns that would beat down and warm him, or else in the kind of rain that seemed to come down in sheets rather than droplets - or he had simply never really taken the time to notice. His brain, complicated and clever organ that it was, was usually taxed by several different trains of thought he would have going at once as he contemplated how to save or destroy worlds, depending on what sort of jam he had gotten himself into - something as simple as feeling the in-between of wet and dry was left to the baser, primal, autonomic parts of his nervous system. It had never been pertinent or interesting enough to catch his attention. Today however, in this oddly corrupted and complimented hybrid body, he had taken notice of it for the first time. He felt damp, and he did not like it.

How long had they been standing here? Tossing his gaze skywards, he squinted as he sought out the expiring sun, backtracking the angle of it's gradual descent to get an idea of the time. Something about the angle seemed slightly off, making him wonder if it had followed a more rapid path of descent than the sun from the first Earth, that is, the Earth of the universe he was from. Perhaps the axis of this world was slightly askew? This version of Earth certainly seemed to be running slightly ahead of the one he had left behind, so it should not have been terribly surprising to imagine time passing differently, albeit very modestly, if at all. If it were not for his highly evolved sense of time, dulled now both by the hybrid body he owned as well as the feeling of being completely out of sync with this new, faster universe, he might not have noticed the difference at all. It was interesting, something he would look into later. Hopefully, with a bit of study and meditation, he would be able to catch himself up. Of course, he was not sure just how capable this body would prove to be, what with the needs and limitations that came with this too-human carapace, but he decided to file that concern away for the moment; better he approached those uncomfortable possibilities when he was well rested, and dry.

Yes, dry. He wanted to be dry very, very much. Shifting his gaze towards the shell-shocked blonde further up the beach, he shifted impatiently, eyeing the grime that had caked the bottoms of his moist trainers. Yes, they were moist. The cloth material was not exactly beachwear, and the coming tide had brought in a fair amount of water on the wind. The red high-tops had not fared nearly as well as his blazer and shirt. Where his suit was damp, his trainers were very nearly to the point of passing moist. Indeed, as he took a few steps towards her, he found himself bemoaning the soft sucking sound that came from his wet socks sliding against the slick soles of his shoes.

"Rose."

She did not seem to hear him, her eyes glassy as she stared at the place in the sand the TARDIS had sank into when they had first landed in Bad Wolf Bay. It had been hours since then, and the wind and the creeping waves had smoothed out most of the indentation the old blue box had left on the shore. Everything had happened so fast, he knew that is the way she would describe it - but it seemed to him that time had crawled by, and was continuing to scuttle lazily past him. It was strange, being a part of a linear time stream. From the moment his other self and the ship had departed, life outside the TARDIS had nearly crawled to a standstill, at least for him. He could feel it's absence as much as he could feel how incredibly, uncomfortably damp he was.

Quietly, he watched her for a few minutes more. The breeze had picked up some, setting the tangled lengths of her bottled-blonde hair to sweep over her shoulders, one asymmetric mass of gold on the right as she tucked it behind her left ear. He knew she had been crying, he had seen it, but even dry-eyed he could see the ashen smudges her painted lashes had left behind. It wasn't surprising, it wasn't even uncalled for considering the day they had both endured. His other self, burdened by the weight of his cursed ancestry and important place in history, had finally severed all of the ties that he had with Rose. He had stood back while his hybrid-self had whispered words of love into her ear, stiffening only slightly as Rose turned to pull this new Doctor forcibly to her, her fingers twisting in the lapels of his jacket as she pressed her lips hard against his. That must have been a sight, his lost and found pink and yellow girl clinging to him for dear life as she opened her mouth to him, watching as his own hands had snaked around her waist while being entirely separate from the entire exchange. That Doctor had done his best to seem unbothered by the sudden display of affection, but he knew himself better than that. Even as the Doctor and Donna had gone over the theory of nurturing a TARDIS, that thin-lipped smile did not fool him and, at least in retrospect, probably would not have fooled Rose either. Absently, he massaged the smooth coral that he had stowed deep in his pocket as he watched her. He only had one heart, but he remembered the feeling of two breaking inside his chest.

There was no way around it. Having a walking, talking, aging version of yourself suddenly born into a world that could barely sustain the weight of having one rogue Timelord roaming about, that really threw a wrench in things. He knew Rose had originally planned on remaining onboard the TARDIS, going back to traveling with him the way she had used to. She had said her goodbyes, sorted out her affairs, and was ready to leave this life and this world behind. There was nothing wrong with this world, not so far as he could see, but she needed to be with the Doctor, so the decision had been an easy one - except, she had never considered the possibility of a meta-crisis creating a wholly identical and altogether different version of her Doctor. He, the hybrid-Doctor, was everything she wanted, with so much of the complication that would have strained their relationship over time ironed out.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being given away to her like a neatly wrapped gift, and she had thrown her arms open wide to accept him. A neat little package, all of the enigma and personality of the Doctor, with none of the messy, inter-species agelessness that she would have had to deal with if she had continued on loving his original self. And really, he did not mind, not at first. Both Doctors, with their shared memories and understanding of the universe, knew that it simply was not possible for the two of them to coexist without serious repercussions, never mind the mess that would come from the both of them simultaneously loving Rose in precisely the same way - the fact that there was a parallel world waiting for this hybrid-Doctor was really, truly, perfect. Meant to be, it seemed. It was a way out of an implausible situation, while making his impossible relationship with Rose suddenly so very, very possible.

It had been Jackie that had been the first to call out words of celebration once the Doctor and Donna had departed, knowing all too well how close she had come to losing her daughter indefinitely; not only was she able to keep Rose in Pete's world, she had finally been able to glimpse a proper future for her. She was safe, she was home, and she had her beloved Doctor here with her, ready and able to give her the normal, human life she deserved, didn't she? Jackie Tyler was no fool, and she knew that as far as the Doctor was concerned, her daughter was hopelessly blind, and too young to fully appreciate what it meant to age and wither and die, or just how lonely she would have been if she had ended up living and dying onboard that daft spaceship with her ancient, forever young, alien boyfriend. So, it had come as a bit of a shock when Rose had cringed away from her mother, ducking out from beneath the circle of her arms when she tried to embrace her, stumbling forward and collapsing to her knees in the sand, choking on a low, pained cry. For hours she had sat there, cradling herself, rocking back and forth ever so slightly as she wept so many tears he was sure the sea level was rising.

At first, he had understood. It must have been terribly confusing, kissing him but then again, never being able to. She had travelled countless lightyears, punched through the barriers of several different universes, all to find him. All she ever wanted was him, she loved him, she wanted him, and yet... Well, the way she had been sobbing and rocking and dawdling in this place, you'd think he had left her all alone. He was right there, there for her, waiting for her, and it seemed as though an eternity had passed since she had been in his arms, kissing him, holding him, needing him so completely he had not been bothered at all by the sound of the TARDIS fading away.

And now he was damp, moist in some places, and tired. So tired. Had he ever felt this tired before? He didn't think so.

"Rose. The tide is coming in. We'll be swept away at this rate."

She seemed not to hear him at first, but as he opened his mouth to repeat himself, this time with a little less patience, she turned away from the now completely blank canvas of sand and nodded, giving him a watery smile.

"'m sorry. You're righ'." Bringing a hand up to press against her temple, she rubbed her fingers in small circles for a moment before dropping both hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Look at you, a righ' mess. You'll catch your death on account o'me."

He hummed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked her up and down. She looked more than damp, positively wet all over. He wondered how she could stand it.

"Nah. Well... Not sure, to be honest. This body, I imagine it'll be more susceptible to things like that. Hm. Well, I'd rather not find out just yet, eh?" Quirking one heavy brow, he leaned bodily in the direction of the truck, which Jackie had retreated to quite some time ago. "...Shall we? I mean, if you're ready."

She nodded, her shoulders coming up to skim the bottoms of her rosy earlobes as she took one heavy step forward, her wet runners shifting awkwardly in the clumping sand. His arm shot out, steadying her with practised ease and agility, and she sort of leapt away from him, reminding him very much of a scared rabbit. Chewing her lip nervously, she regained her balance and strode past him, her gaze darting from his dark eyes, to his dry, sea-salt cracked lips, and then resolutely to the path ahead of her. Usually, he found the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth rather adorable, but just now it failed to move him. He was quite damp, after all. And cold. He had been waiting and hoping she would let him help her for the better part of the evening, and with the sun almost completely gone from the sky, he found he did not have the energy to wheedle anything out of her. This new body needed rest, and warmth, and dry clothes. As he trudged after her he decided that it would be better for both of them if he took his time to adjust to this new body and it's particular needs before attempting to hash things out with Rose. It seemed that his physical state of being impacted his mood more than it had used to, and the cold had seeped into him, bodily and emotionally.

She had not reached for his hand even as they walked side by side across the beach, keeping her hands fisted deep in the pockets of her jacket. By the time they had reached the truck, he had stowed his hands sullenly into the pockets of his trousers. Even his pockets were damp.

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**A/N: As much as I love happy, fluffy smut and all-around happy endings, especially for Rose and the Doctor, I have to say the sad stories really appeal to the masochist (or sadist) in me. Really, there are not many happy endings in Doctor Who, and I think that the story has the potential to be so much darker than the show's presentation of the story is. In a bit of an inexplicable, bad mood myself I decided to try and channel my negative energy into writing a darker sort of story involving the meta-crisis Doctor. I haven't quite decided if I want this to be a sad story, or one that is darker and perhaps more violent. I want to explore the burgeoning humanity the 10-2 Doctor is made of, and how he would have to adapt. Let me know what you think, toss ideas at me, whatever. Also, I'm not in love with the title, so it might change. Cheers. TBW.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

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The drive into the city could not have been more uncomfortable or awkward than if Rassilon himself had somehow found his way into this universe and somehow crammed himself and his formal regalia into the truck to travel along with the exhausted group of travellers. It was a spacious vehicle, designed for rugged terrain and a sense of adventure, and he was sure that it must look quite queer driving a few clicks above the maximum, clearly signed speed limit.

Normally, he would have found himself crawling over the console to get a better look at the satellite radio, fiddling with the dials to pass the time, but with a now nervous-seeming Jackie Tyler stubbornly planted behind the wheel and an extremely sullen Rose sitting as the front passenger to the left, he had decided the backseat was much more comfortable and had examined, dismantled, and grown bored with the seatbelt mechanisms not ten minutes into the drive.

Jackie had attempted to make conversation, hoping that the hours of painful silence and melodrama had been left behind at the beach, but her efforts had not been appreciated. He had done his best to be polite, this woman had always been a trial - albeit, a well meaning one, so he did his best to get on with her when he had to - and at first he had attempted to answer her questions, clicking his tongue and humming at the appropriate times whenever his turn came around, but Jackie always brought the conversation around to Rose, who seemed intent on ignoring the both of them. He understood and even appreciated her efforts the first few times, but as time went on and Rose continued to stare listlessly out the window, the conversation continued to fizzle out awkwardly and he wished she would just let it alone. Eventually, she had.

They had been driving in silence for some time now, Jackie only going as far as tossing worried looks over at her daughter, and then her absurdly arched eyebrows would flash in the rear-view mirror, accusing and questioning him, as if he had done something. It had alarmed him at first, unsure of what he should do, but eventually he had decided that there was nothing he could do from back here, and had instead taken to ignoring her pointed looks to stare out the window the way Rose was.

The landscape seemed very much the same as the Earth he knew, the terrain seeming frightfully typical, which disappointed him. Well, this was just one part of Norway. There was a whole lot of Earth out there, and he knew it was a mathematical improbability for their not be at least a few unique quirks about this planet, given the advances in technology and what he suspected about the Earth's alignment, and the subsequent effect that would have on the climate and seasons.

The lights of the nearest town were not far off, and as he peered out the tinted window into the gloom, he thought there was something different about the light coming from the lamp posts, some other method of illumination creating a much brighter, harsh, artificial glare, although it seemed to be more efficient and far-reaching. As they came into the city he noticed that the traffic lights were hung horizontally, rather than vertically; the uniform bend he noted in the neatly manicured and maintained trees along the main drag suggested there was a touch more wind in this region than there had been on the original Earth, or old Earth - really, he was not sure what to call it. He couldn't very well go on referring to this as "Pete's world" any longer, he supposed, not now that he and Rose were stuck there for the rest of their lives. Well, she had been here for years, hadn't she? She and her mum had probably come up for a proper name for this alternate Earth, and the world they had left behind. Shifting his gaze from the window to the blonde, he considered asking her, but discarded the idea almost immediately; Rose looked very nearly asleep, her head sort of bobbing with the rhythm of the vehicle as they turned haphazardly around corners and screeched through intersections as the lights shifted colour. Later.

"Well, I don't know about you two miseries, but I'm dying for a feather bed and dry jimjams." Jackie Tyler sang, as if the past three or four hours on the highway and the three hours prior to that in Bad Wolf Bay had been a pleasant day at the beach and friendly roadtrip. The Doctor nodded, offering a weak smile when he noticed her eyeing him via the rearview. "What about you, Rose?" She laid a heavily ringed hand on her daughter's shoulder, giving her a shake. "Tired, yeah? A cuppa, that's what you need. And some rest. Your father," turning in her seat, Jackie tossed back over her shoulder "- Pete, that is, Doctor. He isn't really, her father I mean, but then again he is, or was - anyway, your father said he made all the arrangements. Hotel isn't far now, won't that be nice? It's quite posh, make no mistake."

"Don't need much, mum." Rose said quietly, apparently awake and listening although her head was still bobbing from where she had slumped against the window. "'m hoping to catch a zeppelin first thing, tomorrow. Gotta get back, yeah?" He saw that she had glanced back at him through the rearview and felt his heart clench. Was she coming around?

"Oh, don't be like that. It's been a long day, and I'm sure that Doctor of yours could do with a rest." Jackie cooed, turning the wheel end over end as she pulled rather suddenly into the lot of what indeed looked like a very nice hotel. "You are, aren't you?"

"Hmmm?" He answered belatedly, distracted by the glances he was sure Rose was stealing in the reflection of the window now, although the gloom of the cabin was doing a good job of shielding her eyes.

"Tired, you plum!" Jackie rolled her eyes as she jerked the gear shift into 'PARK' before disengaging her seatbelt with a flick of her wrist, the restraining belts slipping rapidly into holsters hidden between the seats. "Am I talkin' to m'self? You two have been rubbish company, thank you very much."

Following her mother's lead, Rose disengaged her safety belts as she reached for the latch on the door. "Been a long day, mum. 'm just tired. 'm sure it's the same for the..." she trailed off, suddenly busy with the zip on her jacket as she slid out of the car. "We just need sleep, alrigh'?"

"Yeah, yeah." Her mother answered, jerking the door open from the outside for him, frowning at the mess of springs and plastic from his dismantled seatbelt after he had hopped out, hands in his trousers, already approaching the front of the building. "Oi, this is a rental! If we lose the deposit on account of your tinkering I'll..." A pointed look from Rose quieted Jackie as he let his eyes roll back in his head, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. "They'll have your room ready for ya, just stop in for a pair of keys."

"Wha-? A pair?" Rose sort of whined, her wide eyes flashing between the Doctor and her mother, a touch of colour brightening her otherwise flat complexion, the neon lighting of the signage washing her out in a haze of greens and blues. She tossed a look of disbelief at her mother before slinking towards the doors. "Clueless."

"What? What is it that look for? Honestly Rose, I don't see what you're fussin' about. You were practically shacked up in that bloody box for _Godonlyknows_ how long, weren't ya? And the way you've been going on about finding him, well, can ya blame me for assuming?" Fuming, Jackie Tyler strode past him, tugging along an overnight bag she seemed to have pulled from thin air on squeaking wheels. It had seemed both Tyler women had forgotten him, assuming he would follow.

Raking his fingers back through his hair, he let out a breath as he took a few jogging steps to catch the door before it had swung all the way closed, thrusting himself into the brightly lit waiting area. Squinting, he had barely caught Jackie asking him if he minded terribly sharing the room with Rose over the din of a sort of pulsing beat coming the from the loudspeakers.

"No, no. I'm fine anywhere Jackie. She can put me in the cupboard if she likes, so long as it's dry."

"Well then, you see. It's all fine. They're booked solid anyway. Your father," Jackie glanced over her shoulder, gesturing at Rose. "- Pete, that is - he can't do nothing about rooms that are already filled up, and there isn't much in this town, y'see?"

Rose nodded, her ears colouring as she stalked towards the elevator with a pair of sleek, glossy cards in her hand. Noting that Jackie had requested a room service menu from the front desk and was already presenting a list of demands, he gave her a wave as he made to follow Rose. He came up alongside her just as the lift arrived and smiled as she sort of shoved one of the keycards towards him before hurrying into the rounded tube. Stowing the keycard in his trouser pocket, he peered at the panel of buttons, noting that the hotel had seven floors, and they were headed to the sixth. He offered her a smile but she either failed to notice or simply would not return it. As she stepped off the lift he found himself staring at his shoes, wondering why this seemed to be so difficult for her.

"Here we are." Rose said in a strained voice as she jammed the card into a slot beneath the door handle, a light blinking green signalling that they were able to enter.

It was more than a hotel room, more of a suite really, the door opening to an immediate and cozy living area with a kitchen nook in the corner, everything tastefully furnished in warm colours, a love seat and armchair arranged around a charming fireplace. He could see that there was a bathroom down the hall, and what must have been a bedroom past that, but he was more interested in Rose to really appreciate the homey-ness of the decor. She had immediately shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall over the back of the nearest armchair as she bent over the coffee table, noisily turning out her pockets and leaving a pile of change, a few crumpled bits of paper, and her keycard scattered across it's polished surface. It warmed him a bit to see her coming-home-ritual again for the first time in what felt like forever, although it could only have been a couple of years.

"It's nice. Very nice." He answered gently, not wanting to get too close to her, but not knowing exactly where to stand either. "Lots of furniture, as well. That's great. I was hoping for better than the cupboard." Offering her a familiar, Cheshire grin, he rocked back on the heels of his soggy trainers. "There's a fire and everything. I love fireplaces. Where there is a fireplace there is a flue, and where there is a flue there is a chimney, and chimney's are just full of possibilities - well, not this one." He countered, striding past her as he bent to examine the glass-enclosed flames. "Gas. Or electric. Electric, I think." Standing up straight, he gestured dismissively at the fireplace as he turned to give her a smile, which died quickly on his lips. "Not much chance of a chimney, then. Electric..."

She was staring at him as if she had seen a ghost, and really, he couldn't understand why she would be looking at him like that now. It had been nearly an entire day since she had seen a duplicate of the Doctor burst forth from the TARDIS, saving her and all the rest from certain doom with Donna's help, and she had seemed friendly enough once everything had been explained by the original Doctor. Now, she was looking at him as if his rambling had been a string of curse words, completely aghast and rendered speechless, her mouth sort of hanging open. He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together as he shifted his gaze quickly towards the disappointing electric fireplace. What was he supposed to do with her gaping at him like a fish? He could sense her unease, taste her discomfort, and it set his teeth on edge.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Rose. I'm not going to do anything. Not until you tell me what to do." He said quietly after bringing his hands up to scrub his face roughly. "If you have questions, if you need time, you just need to -"

"Time. Yeah. I need time." She cut in quickly, her teeth gone back to worrying her bottom lip. Her lips looked dry. Jumping through time and space and universes, in his experience, was very dehydrating. She knew that, he was sure. She had been doing it for months before finding him.

He nodded, lowering his gaze to the carpet, puzzled by a feeling of annoyance that had his skin crawling.

"'m sorry. I just... I just need to sort it all out, y'know?" She said in a low, panicked voice, unconsciously shifting between him and the door, as if she expected him to leave. "'m tired. 'm wet and got sand in my clothes, in my hair."

"Yeah. Funny thing, sand. Seems to get everywhere, even when you did barely more than walk in it." He dragged a hand back through his hair once, twice, and again with the other hand. "I get it. Long day, and all that. We've got lots of time, you and I. Lots of time."

"Right." She answered, staring at him as an uncomfortable silence fell between them. When he finally plucked up the courage to open his mouth and begin rambling again, she took a step back, gesturing over her shoulder. "'m gonna hop in the shower, yeah? If you don't mind waitin'? I've gotta dry my hair and all that, you remember, so... You don't mind, do you?" Her gaze swept over him, seeming to be searching for something he was not sure he had.

"No, no. You go on. Ladies first, isn't that the rule?"

She mirrored the weak smile he flashed at her before disappearing down the hallway, a lock mechanism clicking audibly before the the sound of the water pounding walls of glass reached him, giving him an idea of how sensitive his hearing was in this hybrid body. He sighed, waiting and failing to hear what should have been the heavy drop of her clothing hitting the floor, the creak of the shower door, and any number of other slight noises he was accustomed to hearing from much greater distances. He supposed he should be grateful for the hearing he had, it would still be stronger than that of a human, and that was something. With that in mind he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of air freshners, bleach, dust, warm plastics, and a host of other things that clung to the surfaces of the hotel room. Before the meta-crisis, he would have been able to pick apart a myriad of different scents and the chemical compounds that they were made of, and if he was ever in doubt, his tongue would fill in the rest if he really needed to know what things were made of, or touched by. Rose had always thought it terribly unhygienic, but it been a skill that proved it's use more than a few times on the fly. Picking up one of the decorative throw pillows from off the loveseat, he sniffed it gingerly, deciding he could do without knowing whatever substances had rubbed off on it, his tongue running over his dry lips instead.

Rose had fled, leaving him to his own devices, in a damp suit and soggy trainers, unfed and parched. Frowning, the Doctor bent to tug at the laces of his trainers before kicking them off and arranging them carefully a few inches in front of the disappointing fireplace, hoping they might dry out. Doing away with his wet socks, he padded across the carpeted living room barefoot, attempting to make out the make-up of the carpet fibers as he moved through touch alone, deciding that it was ultimately a synthetic blend, but the specifics eluded him. The kitchen nook provided a few basic amenities, a strange and complicated looking coffee machine, and a tall table with bar-stool like chairs. He bent to put his face under the faucet, swallowing a few mouthfuls of chemically treated water with a hiss before scrubbing his face.

He was tired, incredibly tired. Was that because of the emotional roller-coaster of the day, the shock of popping into existence completely by chance, or because that was just what he had to deal with now? The tired Doctor. The sleepy Doctor. The altogether un-alert Doctor. His face set in a hard lines as he glowered into the refrigerator, he tried to calm his single, oddly-beating heart. It wouldn't be so bad, sleeping. Rose did it all the time. Thinking back to the time they had spent on the TARDIS, he sniffed and muttered to himself, remembering with some annoyance that it seemed sometimes it was all Rose ever did. Sleep. For hours at a time! The thought of spending eight hours every day unconscious quelled the ache in his stomach, and he decided he was not hungry.

As he slunk back into the living room, he cast a despondent gaze down the length of the hallway, his eyes finding the slivers of light that were pouring out from the corners of the door frame. He thought about the way Rose had kissed him on the beach and wondered why she was so shy now. They hadn't exactly been sharing a bedroom or anything aboard the TARDIS, but there had been no locked doors (none that would have been any use against him, anyway), and while Rose and he had never gotten the chance to get all that intimate, he remember more than a few times loitering outside her bathroom while she showered, having to shout to converse with her over the noise of the shower. They had been mates, inseparable most of the time, and he had not really been concerned with personal space or boundaries. She had gotten used to him bounding in and out to tell her about one magnificent star or another, and would come out wrapped snugly in plush pink towels, one around her body, and one up in her hair. She had always complained, now that he thought about it, something about 'not having her face on' or some other ridiculous notion. He had always assured her that her face looked the same as ever, fully attached, and it usually sent her into a fit of giggles, given their experience with The Wire. Now, glowering at the door, he resented the flimsy piece of particle board and plastic that she had put up between them. Why was that necessary? If he had been the other Doctor would she have closed and locked the door, he wondered? As he heard the taps creak and the flow of water cease abruptly he sighed, moving from the hallway back into the living room.

The sound of her hair dryer turning on and off let him know that she was nearing the end of her bath routine, so he settled himself on the couch, trying (and failing) to make himself look casual and comfortable.

When she opened the door he could not help but shiver a bit as a rush of humidity and warmth escaped the bathroom, the familiar smell of her soaps and shampoos reaching his sensitive nose. Rose had always smelled nice, and after some coaxing and lectures about the astringent products she had brought from home, she had adapted to more natural products from other worlds. Of course, she had none of that with her when she was lost to him at Canary Wharf, there hadn't exactly been time to pack a bag or anything, but he could tell that she had not gone back to the harsh lathering sulfates in drugstore products that had always set his eyes to watering. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't quite the same, but the thought of him and his preferences rubbing off on her after all this time was comforting. He was not some random alien that had followed her home. He was the Doctor, she was Rose, surely things would not be this terribly uncomfortable forever?

"Um... Doctor?" Rose's voice, edgy with hesitation, brought him back to himself. He smiled serenely at her, positively beaming as he thrust himself up to stand, his fingers making easy work of the buttons down the front of his blazer. Her wide-eyed stare eventually slowed his fingers, and he tilted his head to the side.

"What? No hot water left?" He said amicably as he peeled his jacket back over his shoulders with a shrug. "It'll take all night for this to dry out, I'm telling you. I should have taken a few things from the TARDIS, hmm."

Rose could only stare at him for a minute, her mouth hanging open the way it had been before. Shaking herself, she brought a hand up to comb through her semi-damp, blown out hair. "Oh, um. Give it a minute. Just t'be safe, yeah?" Eyeing the damp jacket he had thrown over the back of one arm, she cleared her throat, pointing down the hall. "There's a sort of hamper. Put it - your clothes I mean - they'll wash and press it." She squeaked nervously, her face going pink before she buried it in her hands. "'m sorry. I just don't know what t'do with m'self."

"Oh, Rose." He sighed, deciding that it would be better to just try and jump in rather than tip-toeing around her, it was a policy that had generally worked for him in the past. Gathering her up in his arms, squeezing her as he buried his face in her hair, he growled in frustration at the feeling of her resisting. She had gone rigid, the feeling of the knot in the sash that had kept her robe closed digging uncomfortably into his belly. Wincing, he released her, bringing his hands up to cup her face despite her mewling protestations. "I know it's weird, I know you're confused and so am I, but I'm still me. I promise."

"But you're not!" She suddenly blurted, her hands coming up to cover her mouth as soon as she had said it, muffling a groan as her eyes rolled back and squeezed tightly shut. "I mean, I - 'm sorry, it's just. You're not, are you? Not really."

He backed away from her, holding his arms in the air like a criminal. His head sort of aching as he brought his hands up to massage his temples, he sighed. "I thought he went over this, before, on the TARDIS. With me. Him. The other me. You know him, and you trust him, and he is me, and I am him - me - so you have to trust me the way you trust him - me - you know? Oh, bollocks." He groaned, noting the doubtful look on her face as she clutched the collar of her robe tightly shut, as if he were some random bloke off the street come to paw at her. Really, he did not see why she had to cringe away from him like that. What was the matter with her?

"I know, I just... I just don't know." She finished hopelessly, throwing her hands over her face as she choked on a laughing sob. "It all made sense before, I know it did, but now... 'm head is just buzzing and I can't work it all out. 'm tired, Doctor. 'm sorry."

"It's alright." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took in a steadying breath before offering her the brightest smile he could manage. "I get it." He didn't. "I'm going to have a shower, alright? We don't have to... I'll be out here, if that suits you. A bit of sleep, that's what we need."

Rose nodded, relief softening her features considerably. She dropped her hands from the collar of her robe, letting her arms fold over her chest instead. Awkwardly, they edged around each other as he made his way towards the bathroom.

And as he shut the door, he heard her curse and muffle a low groan into one of the pillows he had elected not to lick.

He had dreamed of seeing her again countless times, getting to spend just one more night with her. This was not at all what he imagined it would be like. Not even close.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this chapter is a bit longer than the first. I needed to get the travel and logistics out of the way before I could get into the meat of the story, so look forward to that. Also, a bit of smut.**

I don't know much about the geography of Norway, especially in the fictional context of the show, but that is where they are. If you are wondering about the car, that's fair, so I'll explain. I don't think that Jackie Tyler had any intention of staying with Rose in their original universe, given that she has Pete and their baby Tony waiting at home in her mansion for her. I think she had planned to come home all along, either via a teleporter or the TARDIS. The car waiting at Bad Wolf Bay is my assumption that given the previous history of that place that it is a sort of jumping over point, as the last hole in the universe to be healed, and thus perhaps the weakest. Jackie would have called Pete and had a car left waiting for them. Looking back, I think I should have written in a driver and car service, but I think it would complicate the dialogue now. 

**Any thoughts? I hope this doesn't come across as boring rambling! Cheers. TBW.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

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It had taken him a couple of minutes to sort out the plumbing, which had not helped his mood. Spinning the three taps he was able to sort out the perfect level of hot, cold, and water pressure. Usually, he only really needed a quick peek at alien systems to understand their basic function, or at least how to turn them on - but this was not alien, exactly, just a different version of Earth and this was a different version of him. As he fiddled with the taps, muttering to himself, he supposed he should just accept that, and get on with it. It wasn't like he was completely human, he was still far superior when it came to physiology and mental capacity, and having nearly a millennia of life experience, no matter what species or half-species you were, that was something unique and valuable.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice startled him, coming from just the other side of the door, and he jumped as he viciously clawed at a towel hanging just out of reach. He had just been about to step into the shower and his one foot was wet, causing him to slip a bit as he ripped the gauzy fabric from the wall and clumsily wrapped it around his waist.

"Yes?" He shouted back, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous with the towel cinched so tightly around him, considering the door between them. What could she possibly want from him now that he was undressed and about to step into the shower? She had certainly seemed to want her space before, hadn't she? Unless... Something was wrong? Or she felt bad about the way things were going? Still, with him in the nude and presumably wet, couldn't it have waited?

Unless.

"Rose, is everything alright?" With one hand holding his towel in place he reached to open the door, peering around the frame. "What? What is it?"

She seemed stunned, as if she had been minding her own business and had not been the one calling out to him just moments before. Her mouth, hanging open in that way that it always seemed to be whenever she was facing him since they had arrived here, irked him. Pushing the door open a bit wider, he looked over his shoulder, the sound of the shower seeming to bring her back to reality.

"Oh, it's... Nothin', I guess. I just... The taps, I thought they might be a bit complicated, but I see you..." She was nervous, rambling, her eyes drifting away from his, down the length of his neck and down over across his bare chest. Her attention faltered at the loosely bunched towel he had slung around his hips, and he had to stop himself from laughing at the sudden colour that had brightened her cheeks. "You figured 'em out, yeah?"

Scoffing, he dragged a hand back through his hair, letting the roll of his eyes show her just how ridiculous a notion that was and rolled his shoulders back in a shrug. "Honestly, Rose. They're only taps! Even on this version of Earth, humanity has pretty rudimentary plumbing fixtures. Hot, cold, off, on... Pressure... Basic. Simple." Scratching at the scruff darkening his jaw line, he looked her up and down appraisingly. Her untidy blonde hair was still a bit damp, making the roots of appear darker than usual, a sort of cool ash brown that made him wonder what she might look like without all the peroxide and bleach she used to lighten her hair. She began chewing on her lip, and suddenly he was sure he could see her as a sultry brunette, wearing red instead of pink, a colour that would really warm the hazel-brown of her eyes. Again, with the odd, singular beating of his heart. Clearing his throat, he gestured over his shoulder. "Speaking of... Water's going. Don't know enough about the state of this world's natural resources to feel safe wasting water, eh? I'd best... Unless you," he rose his eyebrows, doing his best to look casual, but inviting. "Need something else?"

"No. No, no." She answered too quickly, bringing a hand up to wave him off. "No, 'm alrigh'. Sorry."

Frowning, he watched as she quickly retreated down the hallway, her shoulders stiff and arms swinging. Sighing, he closed the door before pulling the towel from around his hips and tossing it back over the rack.

The shower was enclosed, protected by glass doors made nearly opaque by the steam, which he swung wide before stepping in. There were two shower heads fixed opposite one another, one on either side of him, and both seemed to strain against the amount of water that was being pumped through them. Smiling, he shouldered his way in-between the two streams of water and groaned as the relentless pressure and hot water poured over him. Reaching out, he splayed his fingers against the cool, granite walls, arching his back and rolling his shoulders as hours of tension uncoiled beneath his skin. Head tilted back, he opened his mouth and grimaced as the hot water travelled every contour of this new body, taking the the scent of the sea with it.

After he had given himself a few minutes to simply relax under the twin streams he groped for a bar of soap Rose had left for him and squinted, the name of a species of bird carved into it's soft surface. Sniffing it, he touched his tongue to it briefly and spat, supposing he could deal with chemical makeup of the soap for the time being. Rolling it between his hands, he pulled it across and down his chest, taking the chance to explore this new body.

While he had all of the memories his other self had, even those that came after his hand had be severed after his regeneration so long ago, he seemed not to bare any of the scars that he remembered picking up along the way. There had been one on his right shoulder, having been clipped by a messenger on a faraway planet, a purple-skinned alien on a sort of motor scooter, which Donna had found absolutely hilarious seeing as how he had been lecturing her about the importance of alien traffic laws immediately before he had mistaken a pedestrian walkway for a lane for small, quick, excessively mirrored vehicles.

Another, extremely small and very neat, on his right forearm was gone as well, one that Martha had stitched that up for him, completely beside herself after a particularly disastrous misunderstanding between him and a couple of sirens on a planet populated largely by merpeople; it had taken a dozen apologies and letting her stitch him up like a ragdoll to stop her complaining about his fascination with blondes. The memory made him smile, and he wondered what Rose would think of that story.

The thought of Rose had him looking down at himself, letting his hand run over the smooth expanse of his chest and down over his belly, remembering and rediscovering each patch of dark hair that ran in a fine line from the center of his chest and down and around his navel before trailing lower. There had been a long scar that had followed the line of his hip bone and the 'V' angle of the muscle that descended into his groin, which he had gotten that crashing through a glass window in one of his many rescue operations involving Rose; she had teased him mercilessly about it once she knew he was alright, suggesting that the next time he spoke to any dogs (what was it about speaking every language that baffled people so much?) that he might ask about a spay and neuter support group. Now, there was nothing. No evidence of the embarrassing injury, of her teasing, or of any of their time together. Despite the years he had spent with his companions since his regeneration, he was left completely unmarked. Was that because this body was new, or was it because this version altogether had never experienced anything with any of them? Superior hybrid-brain or not, it was hard to wrap his mind around.

The soap slipped from his hands, and he left it drifting on the shower floor as he ran his hands through his hair, combing it back and out of his eyes before dropping his hands to his biceps, running them up and down his arms. This body was a clean slate, a stark denial of so many memories, and already a mystery to him. Running his hands up the length of each arm, he massaged the roundness of his shoulders and ran his fingers along his clavicle, swallowing experimentally as he felt the apple of his throat bob. The same, fine, sparse hair darkened his chest as it had since the day of his regeneration, his abdominal muscles scarcely defined even when he flexed, though he could feel them curling beneath his hands when he pressed against his stomach.

He was still slim and wiry, the opposite of his thicker, broadly muscled previous incarnation. He wondered, not for the first time, if Rose had preferred the man he had been before, her first Doctor, all broad shoulders and big ears and wounded soul. If she had been given a second chance with him through the meta-crisis would she still have shied away from him, he wondered? Or would she have invited him in when she had showered earlier? Something about tonight reminded him bitterly, sadly, of the moment he had first met her with his new face. She had wanted him to change back, if he could. She hadn't trusted him, had not believed he was the same man. It felt much the same as it had then, only his face had not changed, and somehow he worried her feelings for him might have anyway.

It had not taken her that long to adjust, not back then. A few adventures, a few examples of him saving worlds the way he always had done before, and she had warmed up to him quick enough. Before long she had been smiling that one smile just for him, tongue peeking between her teeth, looking up at him through the heavy veil of her dark lashes, her voice often suggestive and warm and inviting. She had gone back to behaving the same way around him without much prompting, and they had grown closer on top of all of that. He had hoped for a younger face that would please her, one less haunted by a past he was desperate to outrun, and he had been sure that she wanted him by the time they set foot on Torchwood property, back at Canary Wharf. Once she had been gone, he had realized too late how much he had wanted her too.

He opened his eyes, not having realized how far away his thoughts had taken him, feeling a pang of _something_ drag him back to reality. The shower smelled of Rose and her soaps and shampoos, and the thought of her having been in here not too long ago suddenly had his skin prickling. The weight of his erection twitched against his thigh and he groaned, bringing his hands up to scrub his face. Given how badly this night was going, he was sure that getting himself worked up in the shower in the hotel room he was sharing with Rose was not going to do him any good.

Taking a breath, he pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall, letting the water pound into his shoulders and back while the front of his body chilled, untouched except for a few rogue streams of water that came down from over his shoulders. A minute of meditation, he was well practiced when it came to these sorts of things, and he could clear his mind of unclean thoughts and worry about the more important issue of what to do once he was out of the shower and back out there with Rose.

Rose, whose clothes were tucked into a hamper that would be taken to the laundry and returned by morning.

Rose, who would be wearing nothing but the twin bathrobe she had left out for him.

Rose, who smelled of vanilla and sweet things and surprisingly nothing remotely floral.

Rose, who had kissed him so hard he had seen stars that he had somehow missed during his travels of the universe before that moment.

A soft moan escaped his lips, bringing him back to himself. Looking down, he was surprised to find his right hand fisted tightly around himself, slick with soap and stroking expertly. Shocked, he sputtered in horror as he let go, cursing as he reached for the taps and clumsily spun them, yelping as the heat surged before he could spin it the other way, cooling the stream in the hopes of dampening the fire lit within him. He wanted her, desperately, and the feeling of desire was stronger than he ever remembered it being before. Of course he had felt lust before, lust for her even, but he had always been able to deal with those feelings with a bit of deep breathing and peaceful meditation. Emptying his mind had always worked, refreshed him, but now...

"Doctor?" Rose was calling him again from the other room, her voice close to the door. "Doctor, are you alrigh'? You've been in there a long time."

He groaned, choking as he inhaled a bit of the cold water he had hoped would shock his body into shutting down any unnecessary systems; his stubborn erection insisted that the arousal he felt was completely necessary, and all the cold water had done was heighten his sensory responses. "F-fine." He called back, horrified by the guttural rasp in his voice. He was panting as he watched his traitorous hand run down over his thigh, and back to slide up the length of his cock. "Fine, just fine! Just... Enjoying myself!" He croaked weakly, falling back against the wall of the shower as his hand took over, squeezing himself at the base before slowly pulling down, twisting at the head, before he dragged the ring of his fingers back up again with a whimper.

"The water'll be gettin' cold soon, Doctor." Rose called through the door, concern colouring her tone. Could she hear the shakiness in his voice? Something between a moan and sob bubbled past his lips as continued to pump his hand up and down the length of his cock, somehow both mortified and turned on further by the sound of her voice, and now completely out of control.

"Oh, Rose, Rose..." He rasped, tilting his head back, his breath coming more quickly now. He was using both hands now, one to pump up and down at the base while the other twisted the rounded head of his cock gently, the motion coming naturally and without him thinking, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

"'m waiting for ya, Doctor, alrigh'?" She said in a soft voice, and he could see her pressed against the door, her lips plump from the way she rubbed them with her teeth, her hair a mess of dirty blonde curls, tumbling down her back, the collar of her robe loose and hanging around her shoulders.

"I'll be there... Soon..." He called out in a strained, cheery voice. There was no answer, she had gone, but he found himself gasping. "Soon... Coming, oh, _Rassilon_... I'm..."

Stars burst in front of his eyes and he groaned as his knees buckled, his hands moving faster than he thought possible given his new human-hybrid kinetic limitations, and then it was over. Panting, slumped against the now extremely cold walls, he shivered under the streams of cool water that continued to beat down on him, washing the volume of his shame away.

Weakly, he clumsily clawed at the taps above him to turn the shower off. He sat quietly for a moment, dazed and throbbing pleasantly. He could hear Rose in the kitchen, the sound of a kettle scraping against the elements of the stove, screeching through the apartment. The thought of her going through the motions of something so familiar was comforting, and he felt his spent maleness twitch hopefully.

Horror and rage surged through him, and he was disgusted by the uncontrollable physicality of this new body.

He yelped and hissed as he drew his fist back, his knuckles bruised and bleeding from the force behind the rash, pathetically human stress response. The granite remained solid, the left hook of a Human-Time Lord hybrid apparently not enough to have marred it's glossy surface.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this chapter is dedicated to my friend and faithful follower Emmybooboo, who encouraged me to step outside my comfort zone and start contributing to the smut-community of Doctor Who fanfiction! As such, I should mention this is my first time writing something like this, and I hope it was not too terrible! **

**I also wanted to give thanks to a Guest reviewer who got me to look up the geography of Bad Wolf Bay - I mixed up real world geography and the filming location with the place in the story. Right now, the Doctor and Rose are in Norway. **

**Please, please, please leave me your thoughts! Let me know if you think I should explore this world of smut further, or if you have any ideas. ;) Cheers. TBW.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

* * *

The robe that Rose had left out for him proved to be a great comfort once he had pulled himself out of the shower, the long, thick sleeves falling low enough down his arm that it hid the worst of the mess he had made of his left hand, though it looked a bit better having been left under the faucet in the bathroom for a few minutes. He was surprised by how roomy it was, and although he could have complained about the starchy detergent the hotel used, he had not wanted to sour his first moment alone with Rose now that they were both clean, and somewhat more rested and relaxed than they had been when they had first arrived.

Careful to gesture with his uninjured hand, he smiled at the sight of two steaming mugs waiting in the kitchen nook, his sensitive nose picking up on the tang of an unfamiliar fragrance that must have been part of the blend in the otherwise normal looking porous bundles that swelled against the rim of each cup.

"Tyler's and their tea." He said good-naturedly as he padded down the hallway, careful not to let his gaze linger on Rose longer than was necessary. He could see the faintest smile behind a curtain of gold and yellow hair and felt a certain amount of relief pass through him. Things had been incredibly tense before they had their respective showers, and while he was as mystified as he was horrified by his experience in the bathroom, he could not deny the relaxing effect his... actions... had on him. Feeling very much like a cat filled and satisfied by a bowl of cream, he felt a certain sensation of ease creeping over him, urging him to retreat to the sofa to stretch out and relax.

"Even in this world, the English take their tea time very seriously." Rose answered as she spooned the saturated tea bags out of each cup. "You take it the same, then?"

He could only nod, his throat seeming to constrict as he watched Rose drop a couple of cubes of sugar into the hot liquid before giving it a quick stir with a spoon, a hauntingly familiar sight. Feeling as if he were swallowing a lump in his throat, he smiled as Rose clinically added a touch of a sort of creamer to hers before she turned towards him, a cup in each hand, and nodded towards the sofa.

He almost tripped over himself as he moved to get out of her way, tugging at his robe to ensure he was completely wrapped up and tied shut before sitting on the far end of the sofa, allowing her the choice of the arm chair, or the side of the couch that was closest to the window. He caught her hesitating for half a second but forgave her that when she decided to join him, gingerly perched opposite him, her arm outstretched to offer him the cup with a word of caution. Carefully, he turned the cup in his hand, surprised by how sensitive the nerve endings in his fingers were, the moderate heat a little more intense than he expected. With his fingers curled around the handle he closed his eyes as he inhaled the aromatic blend of sweet and spicy herbs, trying to place them and failing miserably. The look of puzzled frustration he wore must have given him away because Rose chuckled over the rim of her cup, swallowing a small mouthful.

"It's different, yeah? S'far as I know, it didn't exist on Earth. It's a sort of flower from the Middle East, I think. Sweet, with a bit of spice. Mum's crazy for it." She seemed to be watching him, waiting for a reaction. Following her example, he sipped thoughtfully, letting the complicated flavour roll over his tongue. He couldn't place it either. He was surprised by how much that surprised him.

"Well, that's something. Interesting, actually. I thought I'd tasted every type of tea there was in the universe, and there are quite a few, let me tell you." Grinning, he swallowed again, sort of swishing the hot liquid in his mouth, tilting his head back to gargle for a moment, before swallowing with a smile. "Very... Exotic. I wonder, how long did it take for your mum to stumble across this then? Leave it to Jackie Tyler to discover a new type of tea the moment she sets foot in a parallel world!"

He had earned another small smile from Rose and he could not help but beam as he took another few sips from his cup before leaning forward to leave it resting on the coffee table next to the contents of her pockets. Twisting a bit in his seat to face her he noticed she was clutching her cup as if it were a sort of talisman, her knuckles whitening. Apparently, she was not quite as relaxed as he was, and the thought of her so completely on edge was not helping his nerves in the slightest.

"Rose, maybe I should -"

"Doctor, 'm not sure I -"

They both seemed to hurl words at each other at the same time, both stiffening a bit as they stared helplessly at one another before the rambling began again, each of them insisting the other continue, apologizing, and insisting again.

Suddenly, as if sitting here babbling at one another was quite possibly the funniest thing to have ever happened to either of them, they both burst into a fit of laughter. Rose yelped as she sloshed a bit of tea down the front of her robe as he tossed his head back with a whoop, both of his hands combing his hair upwards absently, only causing her to descend into an episode of giggles as he abandoned his now vertically styled fringe. To save her from further tea-related disasters, he reached out to take her cup from her and placed it on the table, scooting across the cushion to reach for it, hissing a bit as the hot liquid spilled over the rim and over his fingers before he deposited her cup beside his and turned to smile back up at her.

Suddenly they both seemed to realized that he was incredibly close, close enough that he could feel the absence of her breath as it caught in her throat. The laughter died as abruptly as it had began, and with him practically caught crawling across the couch while she slouched to meet his gaze at eye level, he realized he could not remember what was so funny. He could not remember for the life of him how they had got here, where they were, or why they had been sitting so far apart from one another. Rose sitting on the opposite end of the sofa might as well of been Rose sitting in another universe, a feeling he knew only too well and too recently. He caught a flash of pink as her tongue peeked between her teeth as her smile melted away, her nose crinkling a bit as a sudden rush of emotion seemed to bubble up within her, making her eyes bright and glassy as they darted from side to side, scanning his unshaven face for some inkling that it might not have been real. She seemed to be searching out his every dimple and freckle, measuring the length of his unruly hair, calculating the angle of his jaw and degree of symmetry between the crooked slope of his nose and the creases around his too-old eyes. She was looking for him, he knew that, and could only hold his breath and pray to any and all Gods that might service this universe that she would find him in this new, old face she had grown to love so much.

"Doctor?" She sort of whimpered in a hushed tone, the question creasing her lips as her gaze bore into him.

"I'm here." He answered, his voice whisper-quiet, too afraid to let her hear the notes of hope and anguish that were building in his throat. "Rose, it's me." A promise, desperate and thick with all of himself that he could put behind it. "It's me."

Something between a whimper and sob escaped her, and he swallowed it eagerly in an instant. His hands caressed either side of her face as his lips crashed against hers, tasting every whimper and cry as he ran his tongue timidly along the swell of her bottom lip, begging entrance as she raked her fingernails over his temples and back through the damp mess of his hair before gripping a handful tightly at the nape of his neck, her mouth opening to him like a budding flower. He was not sure if it had been minutes or hours, but already this kiss was nothing like the one she had thrown herself into at the beach. It was raw, more desperate, and purposeful. He explored her mouth eagerly, his tongue tangling with hers as she pressed into him, the plush fabric of her robe tripping over his, the weight of her breasts distracting him despite the layers between them. She came alive against him, suddenly as determined to kiss him as deeply as he had her, her tongue gliding across his teeth, his teeth scraping against her lips, her mouth open wide and then biting shut against his bottom lip as he let his injured hand drift back through her hair, finding purchase in a bundle of curls at the back of her neck.

Both of them kneeling, sort of rocking back and forth as they pulled eachother closer, he tugged gently but with enough firmness to bring her up for air, her breath coming in quick pants as he descended on the slope of her neck, forcing a sort of keening gasp from her as his teeth scraped against her throat, the hand he had fisted in her hair keeping her in place while her fingers petted and stroked and pulled at his hair and his ears and the collar of his robe. He could taste the soap she had used in the shower as well as a faint trace of spice from the tea she had spilled down the front of herself earlier. Following the spicy-sweet trail that had streak down her neck to her collar bone, he followed the angle of her clavicle up to her throat before leaning in to nibble at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. She was writhing against him, her small hands fisted and lightly pounding against his shoulders, and she whined breathily as his hands dropped from the golden strands of her hair to run down the arch of her back, around to the front of her hips, before coming up over her sides to feel the rise and fall of her diaphragm.

Leaning back, he took a moment to look her over, and nearly lost himself in the desire to bury his face in the crook of her neck again. Her face was flushed, her lips brutally kiss-swollen and puckered as she tried desperately to catch her breath. Her hair was swept back over her forehead in loose, natural curls that he had disturbed and sent spilling down her back. He could feel her fingers twisting in the fabric of his robe, tugging insistently as she seemed to be trying shakily to slide off the couch and get to her feet.

Panic must have betrayed him then, because her eyes smouldered and she whispered delicately that the bedroom was just down the hallway. And suddenly, they were moving, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck as they stumbled across the living room, one of them pushing the table so carelessly out of the way that one of the mugs had toppled - it was his, he thought - spilling the lukewarm tea he had barely touched across the polished surface and down in a stream onto the carpet. Rose hadn't noticed and had instead backed him into the wall before he seized her by the hips and spun her around, pressing her so tightly up against the wall that he had her dangling two inches above the floor for the duration of a particularly vicious assault above her right shoulder as the collar of her robe slipped down over her bicep, revealing too much vulnerable, creamy flesh to him.

For a moment, he had forgotten that they had been attempting to fumble their way towards the bedroom and was happy instead to run his hands down the lengths of her arms, pushing up the baggy sleeves to squeeze her wrists, his tongue in her mouth again, savouring the taste of her as she moaned into his mouth. He had been pushing her robe further off her shoulders when she pushed him back, sending him tripping back a few steps before she seized him by the sash of his robe and pulled him insistently back on track, only allowing him close enough to touch her once she had shouldered the bedroom door open, standing with her back to him once she had reached the foot of the bed.

Coming up behind her, he decided he liked this angle, enjoying the way her bottom seemed to curve just precisely enough to fit into the hollow of his squared hips, the clearest evidence of intelligent design he had ever encountered making him a believer in that moment. She gasped at the feeling of him, hard and shifting against the back of her robe as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her tightly to him as he rocked his hips up into her. She was talking, whispering to him, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears as he brought his hands up to knead at her breasts through the thick fabric of her robe. The thickness of that layer shocked him, offended him on some primal level, and he growled as tugged it open as best he could, not seeming to notice how the material resisted. Managing to peel the cloth away from one breast, he kissed the back of her neck as he moved his hand over the velvety globe, feeling almost giddy when he found her nipple taut beneath his pinching fingers. Again, she seemed to be writhing against him, twisting in his arms as he massaged her breasts, one covered and one bare and vulnerable, the swell of her bosom stoking the fire within him. Compared to the silky smoothness of her skin, his fingers must have felt rough and weathered as the pads slid over one pink bud while his grip manipulated her clothed breast in small circles.

Somehow, she had broken free of him, and fell forward over the foot of the bed. He watched through heavily lidded eyes as she pulled herself further up the mattress, turning on her hip as she gazed up at him, her hands coming up in front of her, warning him, signalling him to stop for a moment, to slow down.

Beckoning him, urging him forward, fingers curling invitingly in what seemed to be slow motion.

He was on top of her before he knew what had happened, his kisses trailing along her jaw and down her neck while she pulled at his robe, pulling him closer. He rocked his hips up into hers, the rolling motion smooth and natural, something that came to him as easily as breathing - or perhaps in this moment, a little easier than that.

She was arching up against him, pushing him _away_ from her, all at the same time. He paused, confusion bubbling up at the back of his mind, bringing him back to himself.

Like a man half starved, he gazed down at her almost unseeingly, his chest heaving as he tried to memorize every part of her, now spilled beneath him with abandon. Her robe had nearly come undone, exposing one full breast, peaked with a small rosy bud, the other barely escaping his view from beneath the loose lapel of the gauzy material which curled back to expose the smooth concave of her belly. The sash, almost tugged entirely loose and free beckoned to him, promising him more than just the tops of her thighs, but she was speaking to him, unintelligible words spilling from her kiss-bruised mouth. Those eyes that had burnt like gold-flecked embers in the other room were now dark, seeming almost black in the shadows of the unlit room. She was not reaching for him now, the two hands that had been as stiff and unyielding as stops signs finally relaxed by her sides once she had tugged her robe together, earning a small mournful cry from him as those perfect breasts were hidden from his view.

"Rose, you are beautiful." His voice was heavy with his feelings of awe, his own whiskey-dark eyes burning with the sort of arousal one could only experience when standing at the precipice of sweet release. He was smiling serenely down at her, as if lost in a dream, his chest heaving as he swallowed down as much air as he possibly could, realizing now that his lungs were burning. When he moved towards her and she stiffened he felt his expression screw up into one of confusion. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

Her gaze had broken away from his, drifting down his bare, nail-marked chest to the waistband of the boxer-briefs he had been wearing under his robe, now open, the sash hanging limply from only one loop at the level of his waist. His arousal, his need for her, was undeniable and straining against the thin material. Her swollen lips formed a neat 'O' shape that sent chills down his spine as well as down the length of his cock, and she shook her head, pushing herself up onto her elbows as she began to chew her swollen bottom lip nervously.

"I can't... I can't do this." She said breathlessly, her voice sort of fading as she quickly tore her eyes away from the front of his pants, the flushed state of her skin darkening into a more blotchy shade of crimson. "It's jus' too fast. 'm sorry." He was gaping at her, his single heart pounding in his chest as he fought to catch his breath, becoming agitated by how inefficient a respiratory system without the option of a bypass was. "'m sorry!" She said again, wailing as she collapsed back on the bed, her hands coming up to cover her face.

"I... I don't understand." He said breathily, his voice sounding a bit high pitched to his own ears. "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head from behind her hands, her ears darkening as the blush that had coloured her face spread outwards. Pulling her knees together, she sat up and scooted backwards until she felt the reassuring stability of the headboard against her shoulders. Offering him a meek sort of, kind-of-not-really half smile, she rolled her shoulders back in a shrug before bringing a hand up to toss the mess of her hair away from her face.

He couldn't help it, all he could do was stare at her, the sweat that shone on the back of his neck beginning to cool icily on his skin as the gears in his head began to thrum back to life, turning slowly. She had wanted this, and he had done nothing wrong, but she had stopped him. She had been enjoying herself, thoroughly he was quite sure, and now she had had enough. She had been breathless and mewling and half disrobed, _literally_, and now she was sitting pretty, every bit of her glorious body tucked modestly away, with only the swelling of her lips left as evidence of how much they had wanted each other - that is, other than the state she had left him in.

Suddenly very aware of how apparent his arousal was he groaned and snapped either side of his robe shut around his quaking frame, clumsily grabbing at the sash, which he wound quickly and tightly around himself. Still, the bulge of his erection had raised the fabric of his robe, and no amount of hoping or wishing or concentrating had helped him to be rid of it before, so he sat down on the end of the bed with a bleat of embarrassment and buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, Doctor! It's not you!" She added carefully as she combed through her mussed hair with her fingers. "Honestly! 'm just... I don't wanna rush anythin'. 'm sorry."

She kept saying that. Sorry. She was _sorry_. He wasn't sure what to do with that apology, or her explanations, not when his mind was reeling and the throbbing between his legs seemed to be all encompassing. Dragging his fingers down over his face, he let out a deep breath and stood up, his arms swinging, his back to her in an effort not only to hide his shame, but to keep her from seeing the absolute terror and fury that had swept over him.

"No need to apologize. Not at all. Not to me." He did his best to sound chipper, tossing a strained smile over his shoulder before starting for the door. "I'd best... The sofa looked so very comfortable... I'll just-"

"No. _Nooooo_." Rose whimpered from behind him, tears springing up in her eyes as she clutched the front of her robe shut. "Don' go, Doctor. Please." He stopped in the doorway, tension and doubt making him appear rigid all over. "'m afraid that 'm gonna wake up, and you'll only have been a dream. Please... Stay with me?"

Her tone was hopeful, warm, and inviting. He felt as if he were being pulled in different directions, the solitude of the sofa promising a quiet respite with no judgement, while the shower seemed the perfect alternative given how successful he had been at ridding himself of similar feelings of frustration earlier in the evening. However, the pitiful plea he heard in her voice had somehow brought him back to himself, his anger subsiding as he got his softening erection sorted beneath his smoothed and straightened robe. He plastered a stupid grin on his face to distract her from the sort-of-limp in his walk as he approached the side of the bed, allowing her to pull him down gingerly and stretch out next to him, her head resting in the crook of his arm and against his chest.

"Thank you." She mumbled against the fabric of his robe as she pulled the coverlet up over them, tucking it under her arm while she considerately allowed him to smooth it over his own hips, neither saying a word after that. She fell asleep quickly, her breathing evening out as her body relaxed against him, one arm draped over his chest, essentially trapping him. She brought a knee up to press into his thigh, a sigh on her lips as she sank deeper into an unconscious state of dreams and rest and safety.

It had taken him much longer to wind down, the feeling of her warm body pressed so very close to his prompting a list of behaviors in the back of his mind that did not include respecting her wish to wait, geared more towards seeing how deep he could get himself inside her before she knew what was happening. Some masculine part of him assured him she would thank him for it later, but all he was sure of was the rather painful ache he felt in his loins, and the way his breath hitched in his throat whenever he dared to think about it.

Again, he attempted to engage himself in tranquil meditation, but the clarity of mind he needed just did not seem possible with Rose curled up next to him. As soon as he thought he had achieved it, he thought about ridding himself of the almost magnetic weight he felt between his legs that had him rocking his hips upwards whenever she whimpered or shifted against him in her sleep. He had even tried slipping away, but Rose was dead to the world and that made the arm and leg she had tucked over him feel very much like dead weight, and he was not sure he could shift her without waking her up. Stuck, he did his best to clear his mind of all things Rose, he had even attempted to count sheep before he got himself worrying about whether or not this version of Earth even had sheep to count, and on and on it went.

Mercifully, he had fallen asleep faster than he thought he would, and was quick to descend into the unconscious world that Rose so enjoyed, the hours for the first time slipping by more quickly since the departure of the TARDIS earlier that day.

She was waiting for him, in his dreams. Sweet, and naked, and beckoning to him, and yet completely out of reach. He dreamt of the sounds she made when he touched her, the taste of her skin once it had warmed beneath his mouth, and not for the second time that day found himself jerking himself off desperately in this dream world, endlessly, with absolutely no release. The Rose of his dreams watched and encouraged and laughed, and he felt as thought he might burn up as the dream faded into nothingness and he was left alone in the darkest recesses of his unconscious mind.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that was really something. Fun to write, really. I failed to notice how much time had gone by and now it is so late/early, and I really should be getting to sleep. I'm afraid that someone will be waiting for me in my dreams to punish me for being so incredibly mean to the poor Doctor, haha.**

**I was really hoping that the last chapter would have given the two of them enough time to try to relax enough to enjoy each other's company, but clearly I don't feel that despite how great a kisser the Doctor is, that Rose is ready to just accept everything that happened and shag him. He's ready though, or rather, his human-hybrid body is! Poor Doctor, he's not used to having so many nerve endings and so little control.**

**I wonder if the original 10th Doctor had known what a sex-crazed maniac his meta-crisis clone would be if he would have been so keen to leave him alone with Rose? Heh.**

**Please, please let me know what you think so far. This is an experiment for me, and I'm treading unfamiliar waters here. It would be so helpful to hear what you have to say, even if it is just to say you're following along and enjoying it so far.**

**Cheers. TBW.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

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After each regeneration, the Doctor usually spent a good deal of time sleeping in the first few days that followed. It only made sense, really. He was re-made, every part of him, every molecule and atom and cell being fundamentally altered and changed. He had thought about it as a sort of evolution at one point in his life, like a snake shedding it's skin, he would walk away from an old, experience-worn body and slip into something new, usually younger and fresher and full of new ideas and a new way of looking at things, even if he was still the same person. For the most part, anyway. He had believed that for so long, had held on to the reverence he had for the absolute blessing and opportunity his studies had given him. If it had not been for his time in the Academy he would have lived an altogether unimportant, short life - but then again, long by human standards, or the standards of most any race, really.

Pythia's curse would have prevented him from fathering children in the way most races across the galaxy seemed so fond of doing, but without the dedication that had sunk centuries of his life into the Academy, he might have found the time to be a better father and fall properly in love. He had a wife, children, and he had cared deeply for them, but his many duties and responsibilities had kept him from truly knowing them. With hundreds of thousands of years worth of time lived you would think a man could make time for his family, but in a world where regenerations offered near-immortality procrastination became an issue. He had priorities back then, he had proven that easily enough when he had done what he had to do to ensure the safety of an entire universe being threatened by the consequences of the Last Great Time War. His family had and was still burning in an enduring fixed point in time, and he had been the one to inflict that upon them in the end. He had a TARDIS, and he sometimes wondered why he had not been able to pause that fateful moment and come back to always make that final decision, but this time with those he cared for safe from the time lock; his TARDIS, enigmatic machine that it was, would not have taken him to where he needed to go even if he had attempted to use it to save them, it had a purpose of it's own and would not be swayed by the crushed soul of one lonely Time Lord, but when he was being perfectly honest with himself he knew he had not even made that much of an effort to try. He had wanted to be selfless, and with nobody left to punish him it seemed only right that he should punish himself, but that was ultimately selfish of him as well. If he had saved them he would have had them with him to survive the Time War as a family and that seemed awfully unfair, but in deciding not to do so he had ended their lives in the interest of his own concept of sacrifice and justice.

He would have lived the life of an average Gallifreyan, free from the burdens of a Chronarch. With just one life he would have lived and died as the same man. It had only taken a few regenerations to really get him him thinking, and with centuries of exploring an existential crisis he had come to dread the change. He was always the same man, but then again different. His core beliefs would not change, but the way he perceived the world and time and space was altered with every new brain, every fresh pair of eyes. The regenerations had been a safety net for so long, and he had used them when he needed to without much hesitation when it came right down to it, but after nearly one thousand years lived he was not so sure about what it meant anymore.

He had given his past life knowingly, willingly, all to save Rose. He would do it again in an instant if he were faced with that choice again, but it had changed him. He had been thinking recently, the idea cropping up some time after he had lost her to Pete's world, that perhaps it was this new experience of romantic love that made his last regeneration so glaringly different than the rest. He had told her he was still the same man, but with a new body and a new way of looking at and experiencing the world, the way he had loved her had changed as well. He loved her just as much, but in a different way, because he had become essentially a different man. After what seemed like an eternity asleep he had opened his eyes to see her perfect face, so many years ago now, with completely new eyes and had appreciated her in a way that he had not been able to do in his last body, while only remembering her in certain ways that only his previous incarnation could know. And now, after a fraction of a regeneration, he realized that the love he felt for Rose would inevitably be different. He would never be able to love her the way in the man he was before had loved her - not after his tenth regeneration, and now certainly not after the metacrisis.

He was a different man. More different than he ever had been in his entire, miserable life.

And this morning, it felt so very different indeed. He was still the Doctor, wearing the same face as he had for a few years now, but on some level fundamentally not the same. His eyes, although the same glinting rum colour, were new eyes with a new way of seeing things. Human eyes. He saw less of her temporal aura and more of her three-dimensional self. He might not have regenerated, not really, but he had undergone a metamorphosis all the same, and he was still not sure how he felt about that; after all that had happened the night before he was not sure how Rose felt about it either.

Slants of harsh sunlight poured from between the panels in the drapes, scorching his retinas through his closed eyes. He was so, so tired. Usually, even when he had run himself ragged and had needed a few solid hours of sleep, or else to recuperate from the cost of a regeneration, he awoke with a sense of relief to have rejoined the world of the living and alert and never hesitated to get out of bed to face the day. Not this time. Not today. Today, he rolled onto his back and ripped the covers savagely over his face, trying desperately to hide from the light. A snooze button, that is what he needed. If he were not so tired he might have scoffed at the idea. There were no worlds for him to save, no battles to fight, no companions to steal away into the cosmos, and thus nothing worth waking up for.

When the dull ache in his loins tugged at his consciousness, preventing him from falling back asleep, he could barely believe it. Of all the reasons to get out of bed, this seemed to be the most unreasonable and unfair.

Peeking from beneath the covers, he could see the tenting of his pants being smothered by the layers of blankets above. It twitched and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift, letting the exhaustion and peace that came with those first few minutes of waking up in the morning carry him into meditation, or at least he tried. He couldn't make it. Something just would not click for him and he could not escape.

Rose had put a stop to their desperate snogging before anything substantial had happened the night before. She had gotten him excited enough that he had been ready to relinquish all of the control he cherished so much just to lose himself in her, but she had balked. Somehow, she had lured him back into her bed and just laid there with him, her body warm and soft and exposed whenever she tossed or turned, shifting the bathrobe she had fallen asleep in. He had dreamt of her, being teased by her, and had never found release. Laying in bed, puzzling over his stubborn erection, he discovered with some shock that his brain was awash in chemical chaos. Hormones that surged and bubbled and electrified, corrupting and weakening him, he was drowning in them. Every synapse was saturated, every nerve ending firing into a sticky chasm of biochemical lust.

It was only then that he realized that he was alone under the covers, and in the room. She had gone at some point without him noticing, he realized. Straining to hear what might be going on in the suite his sharp ears were greeted by a still silence that could only exist in a hotel room, the distinct lack of hominess leaving a ringing in his ears. It scared him then that he had been so deeply asleep that not only had she woken up earlier than him, but that she had been able to get herself up and dressed and out of the room while he dozed, completely unaware.

Troubled as he was, the problem of his situation so early in the morning had distracted him. Peering out from under the blankets, he noted that the door to the bedroom was mostly shut, mere centimeters away from the latch catching in the frame. With the suite empty and quiet, the door mostly closed, and no hope of thinking himself out of his predicament he carefully took himself in hand again.

Without the water from the shower to help each stroke feel slick he adjusted his grip, allowing the cup of his hand to glide more gently up and down the length of himself almost shyly. He thought of Rose and what she would have thought of the velvety texture of him had they gotten that far last night. He found the skin smooth and pliable, sensitive and intuitive as he adjusted the length of each stroke and the tightness of his grip. Within a few minutes, the moderate pace had earned him a pleasant throbbing and a few beads of wet arousal at the tip, something he had not noticed the last time while he was in the shower. His breath had quickened, his thumb sweeping over the head before dragging that moisture down the underside of his shaft.

It was maddening how easily it was to lose himself in this feeling, his mind wandering on violent tangents as he considered all possibilities that were Rose Tyler. Her hands would be softer than his, smaller and more delicate and, he begrudgingly thought, much more practised and adept at this sort of thing. She had been with other men, he knew that, and that might not be such a bad thing, not when his own body seemed so complex and alien even to himself. She would know how best to move her hand in the perfect pumping motion, how to use her mouth and her hips to take him in to the hilt, he was sure - suddenly so very, very sure.

When she burst into the room he could not remember if he had been making any sound that might have given him away, other than the yelp and groan as he sort of threw himself over the side of the bed. Crumpled in a heap on the floor, blankets draped over him, he was glad that she could not see just how close he had gotten himself.

"Late. We're late." She said breathily, seeming distracted as she darted across the room, grabbing the few small things she had left lying about. She was dressed in the same clothes as the day before, the same black slacks and violet top under a blue, pleather jacket, but clean and pressed and smelling of detergent and the heat of an iron.

"Late?" He replied as casually as he could, reaching to tug the blanket tighter over his shoulders as he stood from a crouch, careful to steer the bulge straining in his pants out of her line of sight. "Late for what?"

"The zepplin. Going 'ome, you remember?" She had a stack of clothing tucked under her arm that smelled like the same detergent and press of an iron. She quirked a brow as she watched him seat himself gingerly on the side of the bed. "Didn't mean t'frighten ya. Dead to the world this morning, you were. Thought I'd let you sleep in s'long as I could. Seemed like you needed it."

"Yes. Thanks. Completely knackered, if you can believe it. Can't remember the last time I slept through the night." His face felt hot and he groaned inwardly, the thrum of his heart beating in his chest suggesting how deeply red his face had gotten. "Dreaming. You startled me coming in like that."

Rose nodded before she moved forward to offer him the stack of folded clothing, his blazer and shirt and trousers freshly laundered, just as she had promised. "Sorry. Mum's havin' a fit about catching that first zepplin. Eager to get back to Tony, and Dad."

He could only nod, swallowing against the lump in his throat. She was staring at him, but not in the way he thought she would if she had caught on to what she had really walked in on him doing. Deep sleep was innocent enough, and not at all unreasonable considering.

"Right then. You get dressed and come down." She reached to tuck her hair behind her ears, a tidy curtain of loose curls falling over her shoulders smelling of recent shampooing, and looked him up and down before flashing him an apologetic smile. "No time for the shower, 'm afraid. 'm sorry. Should've gotten you up a bit earlier, yeah?"

"Nah, don't be. I'll endure for the time being, I'm sure."

She smiled brightly at him before she hurried out of the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind her as she went and he felt his heart torturously skip a beat. With his shame sitting heavy in his lap and her only meters away he felt torn, but the sound of her rushing about the suite as she checked to make sure nothing would be left behind urged him to do as she asked and he finally stood up, leaving the blanket in a heap on the floor.

Pulling his trousers up over the bulk of his semi-hard arousal was a new experience, and he made sure to pull the zip carefully. Tugging the shirt over his head he paused to study himself in the mirror, raking his fingers back through his tousled hair, happy enough with the natural fresh-out-of-bed untidiness that he usually took the time to style back when he lived on his TARDIS. Shrugging the navy blue jacket on over his shoulders he stopped short of the door, taking a few deep breaths as his morning issue continued to fade away. Once he was sure there was no evidence of what he had been doing visible he flung the door open wide and went immediately to find his shoes, now dry and sitting where he had left them in front of the now dormant, electric fireplace.

He caught Rose looking him over, he was sure. She said nothing, rushing out into the hallway while she crammed the contents of her pockets she had taken off the table back into her jacket. He followed, one hand dipping into the side of his own trousers to make sure the small piece of coral was still safely tucked into his bigger-on-the-inside pockets. Somehow, the feeling of that small, unassuming piece of alien technology helped him to feel grounded.

Feeling just a touch more brave and put together the Doctor smoothed the front of his clothing as he followed Rose into the hall and stepped onto the lift. Today, despite it's early setbacks, would be a good day, he decided.

* * *

**A/N: Suffering from a bout of writer's block, so I just wanted to get this chapter out there to make sure those of you I've managed to lure in don't wander away! I hope it's not too simple. Thanks so very, very much for all your kind and wonderful reviews! Every single one I get helps to motivate and inspire me, so do keep it up if you are enjoying the story so far! Cheers. TBW.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

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To say that he had been excited to climb aboard the zepplin would have been an understatement. Truly, he had mourned the lost opportunity to explore this parallel world the first time he and Rose had come to it. His traveler's soul had yearned for more time, for a chance to catalogue the many ways this Earth was similar to and so very different from the one he had come to know so well. Of course, there was more to this world than the fact that the skies had been cluttered with the shapes of whizzing dirigibles, but on this very early morning it was all the Doctor could see. Rose had been flabbergasted the first time around, when this world was as alien to her as any of the worlds he had taken her to, but she and her mother seemed not to remember how incredibly extraordinary their method of travel was, both of them chattering away about nothing as they climbed a stairwell to board the ship as casually as they might have stepped on to a regular old bus back home.

Home. Well, this was home now, wasn't it? It had been home for Rose, whether she had accepted it or not, for quite some time. It was his now too he supposed, but it was all so fresh. He felt a rush of disappointment and loneliness wash over him as his long time companion reached the deck, her hands in her pockets, rather than clasped around his the way they would have been if this had been just another adventure, and she were boarding this ship for the first time alongside him. Somehow, the way she crossed the deck to hand over her ticket so easily to a uniformed man with an altogether unremarkable face had forced his hearts into his throat. If ever there had been a moment to illustrate just how very different their relationship was now it had been this one. The weight of that realization hung heavily over him as he followed, handing his own ticket over much less jovially than he had planned to, all of the questions he had prepared to unload on the poor man swallowed and unspoken.

Jackie had her mobile out and was gesturing back towards the cabin, nattering away at a plainly exasperated Rose. Once the older of the Tyler women had gone he moved to join her at the railing, staring resolutely down at the ground dozens of meters below them.

"Mum's gone to find a computer or a phone. No reception once we're up in the air." Rose said matter-of-factly, seemingly unimpressed as the ground beneath them began to shrink beneath them. He could forgive her that, he decided. After all she had seen in the TARDIS, it wasn't unreasonable that she might not feel the same exhilaration he did. The TARDIS and all of time and space had been his for so long that it had been the small marvels of younger races throughout the universe that delighted him now. Their technology, and their odd but charming customs. He and Rose had always been separate on this front, but that was why he had brought her along in the first place - seeing her excited about the Universe made him excited about the Universe. The weight of the coral in his pocket reassured him, promising a future of travel that would make things better - only this time, he would be able to see things the way she saw them, and it would all be new for him again. It was a terrifying and terribly exciting notion.

When Rose pushed herself back from the railing he could not hide his look of surprise and disappointment, even when she tossed a puzzled look back at him from over her shoulder. "You're not gonna hang about out here the entire trip, are ya? It get's awfully windy when we hit the channel."

He blinked at her, then at the railing, then at the cabin. She wanted to go inside? When it was so terribly exciting out here?

"Come on, Doctor." She said, not unkindly, beckoning for him to follow her before she continued towards the double doors. Although torn, the twist of her wrist had him following the way it always had, and he loped after her.

The interior of the cabin was charming, much more nautically themed than he had expected considering they were sailing the skies rather than the high seas. There were shops and assorted places to buy meals and trinkets from, giving the place a very touristy feel. All sorts of people were milling about, looking completely ordinary and altogether out of place against the backdrop of cyrus clouds drifting by the windows. Near a sort of café was a collection of tables topped with what looked like laptops, one of which Jackie Tyler was glued to. She gave them a distracted wave before returning to a video conversation with the man he recognized to be Pete Tyler, but neither he or Rose stopped to say hello.

Hallways branched out from a carpeted sitting area, the rows of doors reminding him more of train than a ship. Grinning, he turned on his heel to lean and peer down each corridor. He loved trains. Rose seemed not to be interested in the rows of rooms they were passing, but he could swear he could see the hint of a smile whenever she looked back to make sure he was still following, amused by his clucking and admiration of each compartment they passed. She had the stub of her ticket in her hand and seemed to be knowing where she was headed so he followed with his hands in his pockets, ignoring the stares of the room's occupants whenever he paused to peek into the windows of the compartments before hurrying to catch up with her.

She stopped suddenly, taking a step back as she double checked the number above the door of a compartment near the end of the corridor. He had very nearly knocked her over as she back pedaled, but his hands on her shoulders had steadied her and he offered her a warm smile.

"This is ours." She said simply as she crammed the ticket into the slim back pocket of her trousers, a smooth motion that had him sort of staring for a half a moment before he her words register.

"You mean we get our own compartment?" He said with a brilliant smile, rocking back on the heels of his trainers as she punched a few numbers into a keypad before pulling the door open in one sliding motion. "Oh, and look at that, two benches opposite each other. Quite like a train!"

"Well yeah, of course we do." She said with some amusement as he bounced ahead of her, seemingly equally puzzled and charmed by his reaction over what was really a very small, plain and simple room. "Most people want one on a trip as long as this one. Honestly, did you think we would spend the entire trip out on the deck?"

He ignored her question, running his fingers over the sort of velvety material of the bench seats, reaching up to discover with some delight the overhead compartment that was meant to hold their bags. They had none, of course, but that didn't matter. Throwing himself down on the bench to the right he began to prattle on about the first time he had ridden a train on Earth, an incredibly long time ago. Rose had taken a seat opposite him, awkwardly stepping over his knees in the small space between the seats before sitting opposite him. She listened with genuine interest, a familiar smile creasing her lips making him feel as if they had somehow travelled back in time, when there was never a stretch of years or universes between them, when she was used to hearing his stories on a daily basis. It all felt so terribly familiar and for the first time since the TARDIS had dematerialized on the beach he felt rather at peace.

Much like it was on a proper train, the compartment was small and the space between the benches did not allow for both sets of their legs to fit comfortably, so he budged over a bit and put his feet up against her seat, bridging the gap and trapping her in the corner nearest the window, though she didn't seem to mind.

"How long of a trip is it, then?" He asked after they both enjoyed a long stretch of companionable silence.

"Better part of the day, but we'll make it to London sometime in the afternoon." She answered after pulling her own mobile from her pocket, checking the time. "I could leave you alone, let you catch a few more winks. Didn't mean to wake you up so suddenly, honestly expected you to be awake by the time I got back." She nudged the bridge of his legs with her knee, smiling a small but promising tongue-in-teeth smile as she lifted her hips from the bench in order to shove the mobile into the too-tight front pocket of her pants. "You were so out of it, never seen you like that before. Sleepin' hard, yeah?"

He hadn't realized he had been staring at her until her hips had come back down and she was seated again. His single heart had begun racing, a rush of blood darkening his features considerably. Sleeping hard, indeed. Searching for some sign of knowing in her face he decided she wasn't teasing him about what he had actually been doing when she had burst into the room so suddenly, sending him careening in a panic off the side of the bed. He swallowed, the mere memory of nearly being caught and his close-but-not-quite unfinished business sending a tremor down his spine and into his groin.

"Nothin' to be embarrassed about." Rose said, one delicate brow quirked in question. "You're half human now, yeah? Bound to be some unavoidable human behaviour to sort out."

He knew he was gaping at her, mouth opening and closing as he searched for something terribly witty to say, to get off this topic of conversation and throw it out of the compartment as quickly as he could. His brain, his pathetic, chemically vulnerable hybrid brain had jammed up. His heart slammed against his ribs and he felt his palms become slick and clammy. He was nervous, and all the blood that might have lubricated his mental processes was being shunted elsewhere by his traitor body. He folded his hands in his lap carefully and strategically, tore his gaze from hers, and looked out the window.

"Sleep. Yeah. Personally, I'm hoping there'll be less of that once I adjust - you know, to this." He answered briskly as he gestured towards himself and this new body, the pitch of his voice sounding a bit high to him. "Great waste of time, sleep. I always told you that. Totally inefficient, sleep is. Of course, it's not your fault, your species became hopelessly diurnal just as they were climbing down from the trees." He saw the way her eyebrows knitted together, a familiar look of annoyance darkening her features as he began on the 'stupid ape' tangent that she hated and never forgave him for. He groaned inwardly, searching for more words, better words. "Well, not just your species. Plenty of them. All sleeping their lives away, all the way across the universe." Her glower made him groan as he brought his hands up to scrub his face. "No, I mean... Look, I just mean that there are better things one could be doing with all those hours at night, something much more fun and productive than being unconscious."

She was staring at him, he knew even before he peeked from between his fingers before dragging his hands slowly away from his flushed face. He cursed his runaway gob, knowing he could not blame any part of his diluted humanity on the way he always seemed to say precisely the wrong thing at the exactly right time to be taken completely out of context. Suddenly, the compartment felt incredibly cramped and he realized altogether too late that the confines of the small room had them sitting unavoidably close together. "Wait," he said weakly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That came out wrong. What I meant to say was -"

"Are you sure?" Rose, whose pink face now matched his, said with a nod in the direction of his hips. He looked down and yelped when he saw the undeniable rise in the front of his trousers that he had failed to keep hidden once he brought his hands up to his face. Rose leaned out of the way as he awkwardly kicked, trying to get his long legs back from across the aisle and he stumbled as he stood up and cursed, the widening of her hazel eyes confirming that standing up so very close to her had not helped him out of this awkward situation. Abruptly he sat back down, scooting as far down the bench as he could before putting his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the tops of his knees as he muttered the word 'idiot' and 'stupid' in every alien language he could think of.

"Doctor?" Her voice sounded so far away from him, dreamy and dull as if there had been a wall between them, and really, that was not far from the truth. Meditation had not worked, reason had not worked, sheer force of will had not worked - nothing that used to work for him was working now, and it was all he could do to throw up mental walls to protect himself, him and his wounded ego. "Doctor, s'alright. Come on. Look at me."

He realized too late that she had followed him to the other end of the compartment, had moved to sit beside him on his bench. He wished she hadn't. He needed space, he needed to breathe. Really, he just needed time to sort himself out and think this through. He hadn't had time to think, not since he had found her again, not since the beach, not since their night in the hotel when she had been so wounded, and then so open and ready. And then shy, and hesitant, and panicking and pleading for him to stop and just wait.

And sure, she had not realized what he had been doing in the shower before they had wound up in bed together, or how she had denied him release even in his dreams, and she had no idea what he had been up to before she had interrupted him this morning - but somehow, in some unfamiliar part of his mind, he felt like she should have known. She had always been going on about this or that need or behaviour that qualified as the human imperative in the old days, and she knew that he was partly human now, he knew she did. She had just used the 'human' card to explain his need to sleep, hadn't she? If she thought he needed sleep like any other human, how could she possibly think she could tease and touch and torment him without there being any repercussions associated with human need?

She was tugging on his arm, shaking him, the concern in her voice beginning to be coloured with annoyance. Finally, with all the strength and courage that he could muster, he peered up at her from over his folded arms. Whatever she saw in his eyes seemed to take the wind right out of her sails and she sighed heavily. Gingerly, she let her head rest on his shoulder, her fingers massaging soothing circles across the bridge of his rigid shoulders.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, still not daring to sit up to face her. He felt her squeeze his arm and winced, the weight of her breasts pressed flush against his bicep not helping to calm his frazzled nerves. His body was awash with chemicals that seemed to give life to every nerve ending that came in contact with her, his frontal lobe feeling clunky and slow as baser parts of his brain pulsed with life. "I just... I can't help it. I've never - I mean, I have, but... It's different. I can't just switch it off."

"You could just switch it off before?" Her voice was coloured with surprise, which only confused him further.

"Well of course. You and I, we've never - and yet, we've never had to discuss _this_." He bobbed his head in the direction of his erection. Her grip on his arm had slackened. He brought his head up a bit, noting the contrast between her reddened cheeks and yellow hair. He quirked a brow, honestly puzzled by her surprise. "How else could I have - I mean, we travelled together for years and never... What? Did you think I was asexual?"

She boggled at him, the thought of him apparently having put aside possible sexual feelings for her in the past obviously embarrassing her. Shaking her head, she waved off his question. "Well, I mean, what's changed? After all this time, 'm still me... Same as ever. Little older."

"I've changed." He said weakly, sitting up slowly while keeping his arms folded resolutely over his lap. "My body. I just have... Less control. I could compartmentalize these sorts of feelings before, prioritize and just shelf them whenever I had to."

"Shelf them?" Rose repeated, blinking incredulously.

"Well yes, of course." He narrowed his eyes, sulking. "How else would we have gotten anything done?"

He wasn't sure what he had said or done, but somehow, he decided, it had been the right thing as he felt the weight of her body shoving him out of his defensive posture so that she could better wrap her arms around his neck, her lips crashing against his. He groaned as she twisted her fingers in his hair, his heart pounding as she plunged her tongue past his lips, her mouth tasting dully of spearmint and fluoride and heat. It was awkward, him sitting on the bench and sort of twisting into the corner as she leaned down, her knees bent while she stood above him, trying as best she could to be pressed against him as he tugged at her jacket.

She had kissed him like this on the beach, he remembered. There had been some sort of relief and gratitude and the feeling of a thousand unkept promises being fulfilled all in that moment, in that one kiss, and here it was again, creating a buzzing in his ears that seemed to drown out everything else. She was pulling him up towards him while he was trying so hard to pull her down, the tug-of-war earning whimpers of desperation from her and growls of frustration from him. Finally, when neither seemed willing to budge they broke apart.

"Where's Jackie?"

"Not coming. Hates these compartments. Says they make her feel claustrophobic." Her breath was ragged, her chest heaving as she towered over him, her hands fisted by her sides.

That was all he needed to hear from her before he was on his feet, the two of them just barely able to stand together in the aisle between the two benches, purposefully giving her no room to hesitate or pull away once he had his arms around her. He was kissing her this time, his hands running back through the endless waves of her golden hair, pulling it back and away from her face so that he could trail his kisses from her mouth to the curve of her jaw, and back to her mouth again. He loved the velvety feeling of her tongue against his, the sensation of her breathy cries being lost in his mouth. They were sort of rocking back and forth, teetering precariously as she began to push back, gravity and the lack of space threatening to break them apart. He couldn't have that. Instead, he sat back down and pulled her with him, his hands on her hips firmly guiding her, giving her no time to hesitate before he had her kneeling over him, straddling his hips. He broke their kiss this time, gazing up at her with lust and awe and complete abandon written across his face, pleased by the way her kiss-swollen lips looked when she gave him a small smile.

"Oh, Rose." He could barely speak, his breathing laboured and voice strained as he fought the urge to kiss her again.

"You really felt this way before?" She said in a feather-soft voice, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"Always." He answered honestly, letting his gaze fall from her lips to the slope of her neck, the curve of her shoulder.

"And you just... Put those feelings away? Shelved 'em?"

"Yes." He was at about eye level with her chest, the shiny surface of her synthetic jacket stretched tightly over her breasts, hiding the subtle way he knew they shifted when she was breathing as hard as she was. He decided he hated that jacket.

"You can't anymore?" Her question was timid. She was chewing her lip. "You're not now, but you can't... Do you want to? Should we? Shelf this, I mean."

He could see the doubt weakening her resolve, making her wonder about consequences and timing and all of the things that he used to care about and could not have cared less about anymore. His heart fluttered and he felt panic rising in him, watching as the sultry darkness in her eyes faded a bit as her grip on his shoulders loosened. She was pulling away from him, that look on her face reminding him of the way she had looked last night, the way she had looked when she had asked for him to stop and just hold her. He couldn't have that, could not survive the way she brought him up so high, only to let him come crashing down again.

His hands had never left her hips, so he squeezed, hard, and pulled her roughly down ontop of him just as he rocked his hips upward, his teeth clenched as he held her hips against his with him hard and unyielding between her legs. Even through the many layers of clothing between them he could feel how incredibly hot she was there, and he wondered if she would burn him once he was finally inside her. She was wriggling, trying to climb off of him, but his grip on the curve of her hips was firm and he was enjoying the friction as he rocked his hips up into hers.

"I can't. Not this time." He said breathily, punctuating each word with the roll of his hips as he held her fast. "Don't know how. Don't want to know."

She had a dozen different excuses, each one weaker than the last, and he didn't hear any of them. Grateful for what remained of his superior strength, he took a chance and released one of her hips, quickly bringing his right hand up to rip the zipper of her jacket down before he slipped his hand under the slippery material to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. He had less control over the angle of her hips, but he was easily able to continue the rocking motion of his hips against hers, pulling her down easily enough between the shared pressure on her pelvis and breast.

Without the tightness of her jacket he could see and feel the hardness of her nipples, delighting in way he could twist and tug at them even through her shirt and bra. He chanced a glance up at her face, saw the storm of arousal and want and doubt and panic bright in her eyes, before leaning forward to examine her clothed left breast before carefully nipping at where he knew her nipple was, applying gentle pressure with his teeth. She moaned, her back arching as he bit the hard nub through her top and bra, sending shivers of pleasure through him as her hips rocked downwards involuntarily, scraping the bulge in his trousers at a dangerous angle. He knew with absolute certainty that if there had been no clothing between them that she would have taken him to the hilt in that one natural roll of her hips and he could have cried from the unadulterated need that he felt, his body becoming rigid.

"Doctor?" She said shakily, gazing down at him with concern. It was all he could do to raise his eyes to meet hers, his fingers digging into her hip as he held himself still.

"You can't keep doing this to me, Rose." He rolled his hips up into hers again and shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut. She was so warm, her clothing so unrelenting, barring his entry. "It hurts. It feels like I'm on fire." He felt as though he were standing on one foot on the head of a pin, his teeth grinding as he attempted to regain control of his traitorous body. He could feel her hand on his, pulling it up and away from her breast and he choked on a sob, feeling as if his body were cracking beneath her as she stood up. He could not stand to look at her, torn between his feelings of anger and hurt and loneliness before she was kneeling over him again, her hands finding his.

She pulled one to the velvet curve of her hips the way he had held her before, the feeling of thin cotton and elastic surprising him as his fingernails scraped over her delicate flesh. He realized too late that she had stripped off her pants and had climbed on top of him with only her pink knickers to protect her now. His other hand, he watched with morbid fascination, she was pulling towards her, shyly guiding his palm to cup the front of her covered sex. He blinked, squeezing just a bit, shocked by the feeling of warm, wet cotton. She rocked her hips forward, shivering visibly as his fingers slid over the damp material until he had found her clit. He watched as she shuddered with every tentative application of pressure, licked his lips when he saw the way she reacted when he moved his fingers clockwise, and then counter-clockwise. She squirmed when he slid his fingers further between her legs, finding the wettest part of her panties and pressed his finger in and upwards, gasping when he felt just enough give behind the cotton to give away her vulnerability. His eyes caught hers as he continued trying to push up and through the material, knowing it would be only too easy to pull the scrap of fabric out of the way and explore her with his fingers, but deciding to leave it there instead.

He drew his other hand back from his hip to fumble with the button of his pants, hushing her before she could protest, enjoying the way her eyes widened and blinked when he had freed himself from the oppressive tightness of his trousers. She chewed her lip before reaching out, surprising him when she took him in her hand so gently he scarcely felt it. When she peeled back the front of his boxer-briefs they both inhaled sharply, her being impressed and frightened by the size of him, and him being shocked and aroused by the way her small hand looked wrapped around him. He was so hard it hurt, hurt for her to touch him, hurt for her not to touch him, and he realized he had been holding his breath.

He could see that she was nervous and unsure and decided to act quickly, resuming the swirling motion of his thumb over her covered clit while he slid his fingers into the damp cotton of her panties until he had her breathless and mewling again. He loved the feeling of the wet material stretching beneath his fingertips, loved the way she bucked her hips whenever he tried and failed to penetrate her through the veil of cotton.

He could have had her then, he knew it. Even if she had second thoughts he would have been able to pull her panties to the side and been inside her before she would even have been able to ask him to stop. Instead, he brought his hands up to her hips to pull her against him once again, groaning at the feeling of that wet material sliding against the length of him as he began to grind his hips into hers. Her eyes were dark when he began to lift her and pull her down ontop of him, his heart skipping a beat as the head of his cock pressed into the material to the point where he would have been inside her if not for her knickers, only to have her slide down the length of him and into his lap. Panting, he was guiding her up and down in the smooth rolling motion that would have her riding him if not for that one layer of cloth between them. The length of his cock had become slick with her arousal, his ears were ringing with her breathy cries, and he brought her down harder, faster, watching the frustration flicker across her features and tug at her every breathy cry each time he nearly thrust into her. He pulled her hand down, cupping his fingers over hers, having her stroke and hold the front of his cock while he continued rock his hips into hers, until finally she had her fingers tightly around him, holding him rigidly in place as she began to grind against him, using the rigid length of him to massage her clit as she rolled her hips.

And oh, that was a sight he was sure he would never forget. Rose Tyler, mostly undressed from the waist down, pumping the length of his cock while she desperately swivelled her hips and massaged her clit with ever inch of him as she rocked her hips forwards and downwards. He sat back, watching in amazement as her pace quickened, watching with a self satisfied smirk as her soft cries became desperate yelps as she came close to coming apart. She had shied away from him before, but now she was using him like a plastic toy, her head thrown back as she finally reached her breaking point. In that moment he had seized her hips again and was pulling her down over him, onto him, growling as she jerked him against the nearly translucent material. When she came he swallowed her scream in a deep kiss as he thrust up against her clit, his fingers digging savagely into her hips as he came, wet and messily against the front of her panties.

Neither of them said anything for awhile, both fighting for their breath as she climbed off of him. She had dug some tissue out from her jacket pocket to wipe away what she could before gingerly stepping back into her pants. While she had done that he had clumsily arranged himself and fumbled with the button of his trousers, his head spinning and throat dry.

He had been trying to think of something to say when she had finally sat back down beside him, her head coming down to rest heavily on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, deciding that for the moment that silence was, as they say, golden.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this chapter was a bit longer than the others, but I hope it was worth it in the end. I can't tell you how hard it is not to give Rose and the Doctor a passionate and happy ending! My thanks to all of the reviews and PMs I've gotten about this story, and I hope that this good ol' fashioned high school dry-humping was enough to get your imagination going. Please, please leave me a review with your thoughts, let me know what you think should happen next. Cheers. TBW.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

Safely back in London, this strange and new version of London, the next few days passed uneventfully. Nothing happened, nothing at all. All of that nothing happening, well, that had grown to be a sign of _something _to him, but despite his suspicions, the sun and the moon continued to rise and fall and this world kept turning, completely unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows between the stars; the only thing that seemed the same was that this world had remained completely unaware of his coming, just as nearly every other world had before (at least, before all Hell broke loose, as it usually did). There were no masked madmen terrorizing shops, no aliens announcing a hostile takeover on the news, and if anything had seemed out of the ordinary to him Rose had only assured him that there was nothing to be worried about, nothing going on, and even if there were she would have gotten a call from Torchwood before he would have seen anything on the news anyways.

Torchwood, that was a title nearly as complicated as his own. Even in this new world he didn't have much confidence in a human organisation that was, despite any amount of transparency or precaution, fooling around with salvaged alien technology that ought not to have been fooled around with. Of course, he knew nothing about the Timelines that converged on this version of Earth, but he had seen enough of it to know that it was not too terribly far ahead of the world he knew. Dimension cannons, neural implants, all of that was too soon and too fast in his opinion. His opinion had not mattered in the world before, so he doubted very much it mattered here, but there it was anyway. He had kept most of his concerns and complaints to himself, not liking the way Rose had come to the defense of the company every time he opened his mouth. It was better that he didn't mention it, at least not right now, while everything was still fresh and new, at least that was what he had told himself.

Still, that did not stop him from venting to himself in the solitude of his mind. It annoyed him to see Rose so comfortable with Torchwood in this new world, remembering her better as the one human with some sense, always just as wary and suspicious as he was when it came to humans over-reaching. And he had made the mistake of reminding her just a couple of days after they had returned to her flat, complete git that he was, that it had been because of Torchwood that he had lost her in the first place, or didn't she remember? Oh, how she had seemed to hate him then, and how much he had come to hate himself once her yelling had dissolved into wracking sobs. He had spent hours in front of her bedroom door that night, knocking and pleading and reminiscing through the wooden barrier. She hadn't locked it, but he wouldn't have dared to sonic or pick it even if she had. He found that the sight of her crying tortured him just as much as it had before, but this time, he had none of the swirling temporal light that could be a comfort to him when he knew, for certain, that she would recover and be totally alright given enough time. In this world, those golden strands sort of came and went, ebbing in and out of his vision, clearer out of the corner's of his eyes. For all he knew, especially with this door between them, he could have brought about the end of Rose and The Doctor just by running his gob. One silly, selfish comment could have ruined everything, and it would have been his fault.

He had slept in an armchair that night, something that was not at all unusual for him - or at least, the version of him that lived on a TARDIS, rather than in a simple flat. Even though nothing had happened between them since their bizarre and daring exploration of each other on the airship, nothing more than a chaste kiss and hand holding, he had slept in her bed because she had insisted on it. When they had made it back to London and she had brought him home, after a meal and tea and a phone call to Jackie, she had led him quietly to her bedroom and let him choose his side of the bed. She had cleaned out a drawer, even though he had nothing to put there just yet, and had clung to him desperately that first night, neither of them sleeping much or talking.

Even though nothing other than sleep had yet to happen in that bed, he had missed it sorely on that night alone in her sitting room. How he had managed to fall asleep was beyond his understanding, but when she had woken him the next day he realized he had slept later than her once again. Standing there in her night clothes, a long T-shirt that nearly hid the short pair of shorts that showed off her long runner's legs, he had thought he might still be dreaming. Arms crossed firmly over her chest, she had lightly kicked the side of the chair, jostling him awake.

"It was also Torchwood that brought me back. Back to find _you_." She had said shortly, her hazel eyes slightly red-rimmed from the crying and sleepless night she had, teeth rubbing her bottom lip as she attempted to keep her expression hard and angry, although in the end she had failed miserably. He had only nodded, not daring to speak in case he said all the wrong things and scared her off again, and had stood up slowly and cautiously, holding his arms out to her. He had thought she would leave him standing there, looking like a fool with his arms open, blinking sleep out of his eyes, but she seemed to change her mind part way through a particularly dramatic glare, and rushed into his arms to grip him tight. They had stood there for a few minutes, swaying and holding each other, until she had finally leaned back and delivered a swift punch in the arm. He winced, whining a bit to make her feel better as he rubbed his bicep and knew once she turned away to hide her smile that he had been forgiven.

He hadn't dared bring up the company again, and neither had she. She had left him feeling particularly conflicted, the truth of her words ringing in his ears in the same monotone her alarm clock was torturing him with now the very next day. Back in her bed, he had rolled onto his side to glare at the digital numbers on the LED screen, groaning and hating the number six with all he had before he wrapped an arm firmly around her and tugged her back into him before she had a chance to climb out of bed. She pleaded, she argued, she tried to explain that she _had_ to go, that he had to let her go, that he could go back to sleep, but he pretended to ignore her. She was wiggling, straining to turn on her side to face him, and dissolved into giggles when he began to drown out her directly delivered explanations with a bout of enthusiastic snoring.

He hadn't expected her to kiss him then but had abandoned his snoring in favour of kissing her back, softly at first, and then more insistently as the warmth of her mouth helped to pull him further away from a particularly pleasant dream he had been having about Zepplins. He could feel her hesitation, the way her body sort of stiffened as the arm that had pinned her to the bed had retreated just far enough to run up and down her side, and she relented just in time to stop his heart from breaking. Her mouth, warm and untainted by the mouthwash she had waiting in the bathroom, yielded and softened as he dipped his tongue past her lips, a soft groan of appreciation being lost in her mouth when he felt her tongue greet his shyly. He had just begun to feel his heart pound in his chest when she had pulled away, her breath coming a bit fast as she leaned over him. It was all he could do just to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, bringing his hands up to push back the mess of her tousled hair, before allowing her to sit up.

"I've got to go to work, Doctor." She said very softly, the colour in her cheeks washed out in the gloom of the dark bedroom. She had carefully avoided the name of her work, but he was too tired and too distracted by the way the shadows were playing across her lips to care. "I've been away too long, wasn't supposed to come back, yeah? Got some explaining to do."

"It's far too early for explaining." He said leisurely, stretching himself out as best he could with a yawn. "I never had you out of bed this early, and travelling with me was a full time job."

"Not true." She countered, stifling a yawn herself as she rubbed at her eyes. "You were always draggin' me out of bed to see some star or another. You _never_ understood why six in the morning should be any different than six in the evening."

"Did I?" He said thickly, a wide grin spreading across his face as he attempted to tug her back down on top of him, his hands back in her hair. "Well, I get it now. I'll make up for all those early mornings, starting today. Go on."

She was laughing when she kissed his nose, not having to struggle that hard to right herself this time around, but her expression faded into one of serious contemplation as she reached out to let her fingers follow his jaw line.

"I'll have my schedule changed. Promise."

He hummed a sleepy sound of agreement, resigned to his fate alone in her bed, watching through slitted eyes as she finally got up and started wandering around the bedroom. She had shushed his final complaints and urged him to go back to sleep before leaving the room, tip-toeing into the ensuite with one last smile. He found himself staring at the closed door rather intently, his interest piqued as the sound of the shower began battering the glass enclosure around her tub. Her kiss had been warm, but it had not been inviting, and he knew better than to attempt to push her buttons this morning, not with Torchwood looming somewhere to the east of their flat, waiting for her.

Grumbling, but sort of pleased with himself once he had glanced at the clock and saw she was running nearly twenty minutes behind, he closed his eyes. It had been their first kiss in this bed, and he fell asleep happily thinking about it.

**x - x - x**

He had woken up to the sound of the phone she had left with him blaring on the nightstand, shocking him into wakefulness and dragging him from a particularly vivid dream that was quickly forgotten by the time he had sat up to reach for the phone, the plastic nearly slipping from his hand once he had flipped the casing open before he finally pressed it to his ear.

"Hello? Rose?"

Her voice sort of crackled as she spoke, and he wondered just how many floors underground she was calling from. He nodded, humming and offering a few words of assent and understanding as she chattered away, explaining that she would be de-briefed and on her way home within a couple of hours. She asked how he was and what he had been up to, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he swung his gaze towards the clock and winced at the numbers that taunted him.

"Oh, you know. This and that. Fiddling with my sonic." He hated his choice of words as soon as he had uttered them and added "Exploring the world wide web, news sites, things like that. Got to get myself acquainted with the goings on of this world, wouldn't want to bring up Prime Minister Harriet Jones and give the game away, eh?"

The line continued to crackle, and she sounded a bit surprised by that, questioning him about whether or not he had found her laptop alright, offering to bring home some newspapers if he likes, but then she suddenly had to go, her promises of an early return being eaten away by the poor reception. When she had finally said goodbye and he had flipped his phone shut, he found himself staring at the alarm clock and wondered where the time had gone. Had he really been asleep until nearly noon? He wasn't sure what was going on with this new body, but he decided he didn't like it, didn't like how much he seemed to _need_ sleep now. Lying in bed with the hour almost upon him he had felt sort of ashamed, and had lied to her as if he had been up to something illicit. She had understood his need for sleep the past few days, had told him it was a relief knowing he was actually sleeping rather than staying up to watch her or something, but it all felt too different. Of all the human habits to have to deal with, he liked this one the least.

He got up quickly and made the bed the best he could, not getting the coverlet or pillows as straight and neat as Rose usually did, but he didn't see the point in a neatly made up bed considering it's purpose, or puposes - either sleep or sex would make a mess of the blankets anyway, so what was the point? That was part of the reason he had never taken to domestics, all of the rules and expectations and what felt like busy work. Somehow, he knew Rose wouldn't mind and put it out of his mind as he hurried to shower and dress himself.

Rose had brought some clothing home for him his first day in the flat, promising to take him shopping just as soon as he had settled in. She had claimed that buying a three-piece suit was too much of a bother and had come home with a few different coloured T-shirts, a couple button-downs, and a pair of denim trousers. He had made a fuss about the denim at first, demanding to know what she had against his suits, but as he tugged them up over his hips and buttoned them he had to admit that he didn't mind them so much now - not that he would admit that to her. He was the Doctor and was nothing if not flexible, and ready to adapt.

Or so he had thought, until he found himself staring at the laptop she had tucked away under her coffee table. There were more than a few buttons, passwords to log into the operating system, and then the WIFI, but it was nothing his sonic couldn't sort out once he had rapped it against the side of the table a few times. Making a mental note to adjust the frequency, he set the gadget aside on the table and began exploring the computer, sorting out the browser and beginning his exploration. Her home page was limited to news of London, and he had gotten through most of the recent history and gossip without too much trouble but had decided he needed to find out a few basics about the world as a whole.

Popping a few familiar URL's into the address bar, he was met with blank screens and error messages. It appeared that none of the web domains for news or global searches existed over here, and that had left him stumped. Drumming his fingers against his lips, brainy specs sliding down his nose, he considered giving up and finding something else to do when he realized that she would certainly have bookmarks, or a history logged into the browser.

Clicking on the tab labelled bookmarks, he scrolled down through a list of web pages he didn't recognize, finding some of them were related to local news, others related to music and social media and other things she was interested in. He had just about given up on her bookmarks and thought about texting her when one title caught his eye - and only because it wasn't a title. A short, nondescript collection of letters, the url deleted from the marker. Humming, he navigated the pointer over the conscpicuously inconscpicuous tab and clicked with one hand while he grabbed for his mug of tea, taking a sip as he waited for the page to load, only to find himself choking and gasping as he spilled the hot beverage down the front of himself.

Of course, this was not the first time the Doctor had come across pornography before. Porn was something that was littered across the universe, across every timeline, and it was not exactly hard to come upon, not by a long shot. A certain maddening, randy Captain had been aboard his ship for too long afterall, and he had been positively gleeful when he had realized the effect that flashing his different magazines and pin-ups had on both incarnations of the Doctor. He had been angry, embarrassed, and had threatened the Captain within an inch of his life to keep his debauchery away from Rose, for reasons he had never gotten around to examining. Of course, the way he had come to defend and shelter his blonde companion had only encouraged the Time Agent further, bringing on one-sided conversations and musings about what sort of things Rose might have hidden away in her bedroom, or in the back of her mind. The way the Doctor had blustered around the console room, hands in his hair, red faced and ranting about respecting the cultural differences between the centuries that existed between the two humans had only dug him into a deeper hole, leaving the Captain whooping with laughter as he crowed at him, asking him inbetween gasps if he really thought that his darling companion didn't have her own 'material' for time spent alone behind closed doors.

Of course, he knew that Rose was not exactly innocent in that way, he could see quite clearly in the way her timeline sparked that she had lost her virginity when she was a teenager, the important milestone etched into the golden strands that pulsed around her. He had known she had boyfriends in the past, and had seen the way Mickey had looked at her, the way he had missed her when she would return from a string of adventures with him. He wasn't naive, wasn't even particularly concerned with her sexuality. Humans really were fairly simply when it came to their physiology and evolution, and that included all of the private and messier aspects of their biology. He had loitered around Earth long enough to have gotten the gist of how it all worked behind closed doors. Of course, the 21st century was not at all as liberal and progressive as it considered itself to be, and female sexuality was much less talked and celebrated than the 51st century Time Agent was familiar with. Jack knew better, and of course the Doctor knew better, but it was something he had not really thought about. Not usually.

However, with the screen flashing with the promise of various pictures and stories and screen-caps that she herself had viewed before, he was boldly faced with the sexuality of Rose Tyler. She had been alone for quite some time, after all. He wasn't sure how things worked on this version of Earth, but he knew most girls from her time were more sexually fixated than they cared to admit. The thought of her looking for this sort of thing didn't surprise him, not exactly, it was more just a feeling of shock to have come across it on his own, much like it had been when he had glimpsed the depth of her arousal a few days before. It was a brave new world, a world where he and Rose Tyler did not have countless worlds and galaxies worth of reasons not to be together.

He had drawn a mostly firm line between what and was not acceptable to think about when they had been living together onboard his TARDIS, and while it had gotten increasingly difficult as time had gone on and their feelings had grown, in the way their hands clasped a bit tighter, hugs lingering just a little too long, he had - for the most part, anyway - been able to keep his mind firmly on the straight and narrow, keeping himself from wandering too far from the edge with a bit of self depreciation and the blissful respite of his meditation. Even when he had allowed himself those thoughts they had been far more innocent than this, much less blatant. He could put away the longing he felt whenever she had flounced out of her room wearing something especially flattering, and had done his best to be a gentleman whenever they found themseleves in a more compromising situation, and had stored it all away in a private part of his mind that he had only tapped into a few times on his own.

As he scrolled through the various screenshots of couples tangled in various positions he found himself wondering if she had ever brought a man back to her flat, but for some reason he had doubted it before and still did. He thought of Jack and his knowing, taunting grin and narrowed his eyes at the screen, his jaw clenched as he selected a video near the top of the list. Things in the bedroom had not been progressing as easily as he had hoped, and he wondered if this is where he would find some answers. As the video buffered he cast one guilty look in the direction of the front door and swallowed a lump in his throat, determined and wanting to know this part of her better.

It was nothing as garrish as what he knew men typically watched in her time, the entire video having a much more romantic feel than the usual plot involving a delivery boy, or plumber. There was classical music playing in the background, and the amount of kissing - honest, normal kissing, not the sort that had you shuddering at the amount of salivia being swapped - let him know that this particular site was geared towards much gentler audiences. The male partner was rather dashing, and the way he focused on her body and her pleasure was much more like what he thought she would like. There were no burly men being serviced by loose girls with too much makeup, no obnoxious screaming, and most of the oral sex happening in the video was to her benefit, not his. He slid his glasses up his nose with one finger, watching the video intently, completely analytical in the way he watched the man in the video kiss the woman all over her body, spending quite some time between her legs, he noted with some interest. The way her body shook and trembled as she lifted her hips from the bed reminded him of the way Rose's body had shivered just before she had come apart onboard the zepplin, and the familiarity suddenly brought him back to himself, and he was shouting at himself "Oh, oh, oh!" as the realization of what he had been missing rocked him. Just like in the video, it was meant to be all about _her_.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as all that, sexual intercourse was a game for two and was meant to be something deeply intimate, the union of souls and all that. In the wake of his pseudo-regeneration he had gotten lost in his inability to compartmentalize, his lack of control and the intensity of his own feelings. Every time they had gotten together in that way, the way she had made him feel had sort of eclipsed everything else. It hadn't been until their time in the Zepplin that he had really made the connection of how touching her made her feel, and how the better she felt the more comfortable she was. She had wanted to stop the last time, he could see the way her doubt and fear and insecurity had wormed it's way into the haze of her arousal, and with a bit of patience and exploration he had gotten her not only to let down her defences, but to do so in a loud and provocative and intesely erotic way. He winced when he brought a hand up to pop against his forehead a little too hard, before he swept his hands through his hair, pulling and combing his fringe comically upright as the wheels in his mind began to turn and he decided that he had to come up with a plan.

Suddenly, he was motivated, scouring the website for more videos that he could find on a menu of what had been most recently played. It was all terribly distracting, and he had found himself struggling with the need to relieve the pressure that was building inside him, but he had held himself back with more discipline than he had been able to manage since he had come to this world. He made mental notes on what came up most often in the videos, excited and surprised by how many were so orally fixated, for both parties. There was nothing too terribly out of the ordinary, and he was thankful for that, the shocking amount of foreplay available in just a few of the videos already coming close to being overwhelming.

If it had not been for her text, she probably would have found him like that, bent over her laptop with his brainy specs either snugly fit on the bridge of his nose, or being polished and re-polished in an attempt to keep his hands busy. The buzzing of his phone had brought him back to reality, and he was sort of embarrassed thinking that he had lost so many hours in a vacuum of pornography, but quickly shoved that away from the forefront of his mind as he went about putting away the computer and busying himself in the kitchen with the kettle.

She had come home not long afterwards to find him sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other. The sight of her, windswept and and wide eyed, had made him grateful for the cover of the table top. Knowing now what she had been doing when she was here alone had only made him appreciate how terribly, unfairly beautiful she was.

"Rose!" He chirped brightly, motioning to the chair opposite him, a cup of tea already waiting for her. "Good day?"

"Alrigh'." She answered slowly, a bemused smile playing across her lips as she dropped her hand bag and her keys on the counter before she joined him, slouching a bit in her chair as she brought the mug up to her lips with a sigh.

"Brilliant. Just Brilliant." He was grinning manically at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he gazed across the table, his mind going a mile a minute.

"And you? Good day?" She was clearly puzzled by his attention, troubled by the wideness of his grin, and she sort of craned her neck to look around him, checking the counter tops for 'improved' versions of the appliances or something particularly disastrous. "Did you get up to anything?"

He sort of tittered at her, forcing himself to drop his attention to quickly diminished tea cup he was holding tightly in both hands. "Mmmm... Not really."

"Doctor, the way you're lookin' at me, I'm worried I might find that my bed has caught fire, or-" She raised her eyebrows, squinting as she tried to puzzle out some hidden meaning in his furtive glances. "There isn't some alien hiding in the bathroom, is there?"

"No_p_e." He answered, popping the '_p_' sound before he took a deep swallow of his tea. He cleared his throat, pushing down his feelings of mirth and excitement as best he could.

"Doctor..." There was a worried, accusing, warning tone to her voice. He knew it well, missed it desperately. She had always known when he was up to something.

"It's nothing Rose, nothing." He waved her questions off and pushed a plate of biscuits across the table towards her. "I'm starving. I was thinking you could make that pasta, the kind where you throw everything in the pot at once."

"Again?" She said with a laugh, finally relaxing as she snapped a bit of a biscuit off with her teeth. She had made it twice in the three days since they had made it back to London, at first because it had been easy, and again because he had liked it so much. "Well, you can at least help out this time around. Honestly, haven't you ever heard the saying that that 'variety is the spice of life'?"

"Oh, yes." He answered, his sly grin returning despite himself.

**x - x - x**

The rest of the evening passed by rather uneventfully, and much too slowly as far as the Doctor was concerned. She had demonstrated her technique in making the 'one pot pasta' he had loved so much, having him pop a bottle of white wine to add to the water. Of course, with the bottle open, he suggested they have a glass or two while they waited for the food to be ready and she had obliged, although she she couldn't find any wine glasses to drink from. They had settled down to enjoy their meal with their wine in the classiest mugs she could dig out of the cupboard and he assured her it tasted better that way.

She told him a bit about her day, treading carefully as she described what it had been like at Torchwood, careful not to tread too far into murky details he might not like while assuring him that Pete was always looking out for her. She asked how he had spent his day and had been looking rather intently at him when he had described his trouble at finding the global news websites he needed before going off on a tangent on the trouble he was having with his sonic screw driver, supposing that it had something to do with magnetic resonance or the angle at which the Earth was orbiting the sun. She offered to look for appropriate tools at work and he had smiled at that, feeling a little better about Torchwood if it meant that he might be able to use some of their salvage to tinker and quietly grow his TARDIS.**  
**

The rest of the night had been quiet, comfortable, the two of them sitting close to one another in front of the telly, although he couldn't say what it was they were watching. She had been lying with her head in his lap, and he had been letting his fingers wander through her hair absently while he silently went over everything he had learned that afternoon.

Finally, when he was sure that there had been enough time between her coming home and dinner, he told her he was completely knackered and suggested they retire for the evening. She had agreed and they had both gotten themselves ready for bed, meeting eachother under the covers with brushed teeth and less clothing. A chaste kiss, and she was falling asleep in the circle of his arms as simple as that.

Once he was sure she had drifted off and he had steeled his nerves, he had carefully disentangled himself and slid carefully down the length of the bed. He knew that this was risky, that he had only a few crucial moments to make all of this worth her while, or else she would likely lose her nerve and ask him to just hold her and go back to sleep.

Rose was a restless sleeper, and she had already kicked the blankets off of herself by the time he was kneeling on the end of the bed. She was wearing those same shorts, the loose jersey material riding up over her thighs invitingly. Leaning over her, he watched the even rise and fall of her chest as he plucked up the last bit of courage he needed before he crawled over top of her.

He kissed her neck softly, hesitantly, waiting with bated breath to see if she would wake up and ask him what he was doing. When she didn't he carefully reached between them, ghosting his hands over the unrestrained slope of her breasts, down over her stomach, and between her legs. He was glancing back and forth between his hand and her face, watching for any sign that she was waking up as he pressed his fingers gently into the plush heat of her sex. He was careful to begin slowly, pressing very lightly as he sought out the bundle of nerves that had so quickly broken her up the last time as best he could through the material of her shorts. Not enough pressure and she wouldn't feel it, too much and she would startle awake.

It had taken a few minutes but her body responded eagerly, her nipples peaking beneath the thin material of her tank top as he ghosted a few feather-light kisses across her bosom, his fingers still gently twirling between her legs. There had been a video like this on her computer, one that featured a girl being woken up and finding herself about to orgasm, and he had thought it was perfect. Still, he knew the difference between an actress performing and the whimpering, sleeping girl beneath him, and he knew he would have to move quickly and expertly if he wanted the same results.

As she came to life beneath him he found himself mesmerized by her the way her body was responding, the ache of his own arousal already miles ahead of hers, but somehow it felt secondary this time around. He watched as the muscles in her thighs grew tight and relaxed, held his breath as she sort of twisted beneath him, his heart pounding when he heard one small, breathy sigh of pleasure ghost over her lips. She was beautiful, especially now, just beginning to reach awareness beneath him.

When she had said his name it had been soft, with much less alarm that he had imagined, and he wondered if she thought she was dreaming. He shushed her gently, his hand drifting over the front of her shorts before he carefully slipped his hand beneath the waist band. She had lifted her hips, moaning softly as he ran his fingers down over her sex, having to bite back a moan himself at the feeling of how wet and warm she was. Fingers delving deeper to find her clit, he watched as her lashes fluttered and she finally opened her eyes to look down at him, loozing dazed and confused before he had pressed two fingers directly against her clit. The way her eyes had rolled back had nearly been it for him, and he stifled a low moan in the valley between her breasts.

She hadn't stopped him yet, hadn't even said anything since he had made a soft hushing sound, and he considered that encouraging. He could see his name forming on her lips and quickly leaned over her to swallow it, letting his tongue trail over her lips in the same pattern he was tracing with his fingers between her legs. The bit of worry in her eyes was lost in the depth of their kiss, and the concern in her voice was replaced with a low tone of desire.

He moved quickly and carefully, abandoning her mouth to trail kisses down over the swell over breasts, through her blouse. He wanted to linger there but deciding against it, feeling as if he were racing against time to show her how right this was. He was careful to remain on his knees, to keep the weight of his erection away from her, and that was easy enough once he was low enough to kiss her navel.

"Doctor?" She sort of squeaked just as he had looped his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, but he had gazed up at her with a soft smile for a moment before he tugged the soft material downwards and over her hips in one slow but deliberate motion.

It was dark, but not so dark that he could not appreciate the hollow of her hips and the way she hid herself by pressing her thighs together. He let his kisses descend, sweeping over her hip bone and lower still, smirking at the way her thighs trembled as he rained kisses down atop them. He glanced up at her, saw the way arousal and doubt were darkening her eyes, and carefully pushed her legs apart.

He knew if he let himself take too long she would become embarrassed and force him to stop, so with one last chance to lock eyes with her he ducked his head, very carefully pressing a kiss to the plush lips there, his tongue dipping in and finding her clit easily, as if he had done this to her a hundred times before. Her embarrassed words were cut short by the second time he had dipped his tongue into her, and by the third time she was whimpering, panting each time she felt him drag his tongue along her slit. He held her hips in his hands, letting his thumbs massage small circles as he teased out the same shape around her clit.

Her hands were in his hair, tugging and pulling, and at first he had thought she really wanted him to stop and had relented, sitting up a bit, just far enough to see how starry-eyed he had her. Grinning, he had dove right back in, nuzzling between her legs as she began to lift and grind her hips against the pressure of his mouth. As he brought his fingers back to trace and explore the depths of her folds he had whispered to her, just as he pressed a finger into her and gone back to sucking on her clit.

"You'll have to tell me if this is how you like it." He had said with quiet firmness before going back to licking and flicking her clit with his tongue, while he thrust one finger into her, the clenching walls already giving him enough to want to get off immediately. She had only mewled at that, bucking her hips a bit, to which he responded by sliding a second finger up into her. With his tongue on her clit, he was able to come up with a smooth but steady rhythm of driving his finger up into her, each thrust there earning a cry from her up there.

And oh, she tasted like sweet and sour and everything he had hoped for, and he was soon delivering his throaty moans of satisfaction into her core as he reached beneath him with a free hand to jerk himself a bit, sending pulses of his own arousal into her wet, hot sex. Pulling his fingers out, he replaced them with his tongue, doing his best to explore her inner walls with his tongue in one bold move, and judging by the sounds she is making he thought she liked it quite a bit. He does too, he realizes with almost a giggle. He had a bad habit of tasting things he did not understand, or wanted to know better, and now Rose was no exception. He could taste the intensity of her arousal, the hormones and chemicals that were setting her body afire, and all because of him.

She is clawing at his nightshirt, tugging him up towards her. He cuts off any words of reason with a few quick, deep strokes of his fingers inside her.

"I am going to make you come, Rose. One way or another." He told her breathily, taking the time to press a deep and passionate kiss to her lips. "I can kiss you here while I do it, or I can kiss you down there and taste you when you come." The way she avoids his kiss the second time seemed to be an answer as far as he is concerned, and so he descends over her body in a flurry of kisses before he can settled himself fully between her legs, more than happy to be able to see her come apart from this angle.

Her breathy cries are wonderful, and as he continued to lick and kiss her clit while thrusting two fingers deep into her, he has his free hand on his cock, which had been throbbing since earlier that afternoon. He had found a good rhythm, able to jerk himself off precisely to the beat of penetration he was teasing her with, two fingers sliding hard and smoothly in and out as he sucked and nibbled her clit. Her breathy cries had become more desperate, and she was calling out his name, begging for him to give her more. More.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't want to take the chance of making the wrong move and ruining this for her, or himself. Instead, he focused entirely on what he was doing to her, his tongue expertly tracing patterns around her clit while he shifted between quick and shallow and slow and deep thrusts of his fingers. She has losing herself to it, he could tell by the way she had lifted her shaky hips off the bed, the way she had her hands tangled in his hair, the way she kept saying his name over and over and with complete abandon.

Her inner walls had become tight, rings of muscles squeezing desperately at his fingers as he continued on, all the while he was enjoying the way she got more wet the more he touched her. He was murmuring to her, encouraging her as he licked and nippled and sucked on that small bud, his hand creaking as he quickened it's pace, groaning as he watched Rose lift her hips from the bed to roll against his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers.

"Doctor, I'm... Oh, Doctor, I can't..."

"Oh, yes. You can." He growled at her, into her, his own hand gripping himself tightly as he tried to so hard to jerk himself off into time with the thrusting of his fingers, moaning desperately into her as he watched the beginning of the end for her approach.

He could see her hands were fisted in the sheets, her chin tucked as she tried to hold back louder and more frequent cries. When he took her clit gingerly between his teeth she yelped, her body shaking as he muffled his laughter in her sex. As if he could sense just how she was peaking he removed his fingers, taking a few moments to plunge his tongue into her, his head spinning as the combination of heat and flavour and pressure, before she was begging and so close he could actually taste it. In one quick movement he had returned his tongue and mouth to her clit, and then had three fingers curling inside if her, the come-hither motion seeming to have stolen her voice as she threw her head back and hips up. He released himself so that he could hold her hips up, concentrating wholly on her orgasm, and oh was he glad he did.

He could feel the way her body attempted to draw him in, the velvety cords of muscles around his fingers pulling at him insistently. Her clit throbbed on his tongue in time with the pulses of wet heat that had flooded her thighs. Of course, she had screamed, her hands tangled tightly in his hair and trying desperately both to push him harder into her as well as to drag him up to meet her gaze. He did the latter once he was sure he had witnessed every wave and crest and kissed her tired mouth, not even thinking about whether or not the taste of herself on his lips would bother her.

She was all languid stretches and mewling words of encouragement, her hand coming to find the one he had been his legs as she sleepily gazed up at him. He groaned, finally pulling his hand away and watched as she took him in hand herself, letting her fingers squeeze and pump up and down in a steady motion before she rolled over, sitting up enough that she could lean on her elbow, and press a kiss to the head of his cock.

He hadn't been expecting that, had really only gotten as far as what he might do to get her off, but Rose had already decided to take part in his game. Her breath alone was scorching, and he was not sure he would survive if she tried anymore, but she ignored his gasps and warnings and carefully swiped her tongue across him, before taking the head in her mouth to suck firmly. _Rassilion, _he was worried he was getting louder than she had been, a jangling, foreign curse escaping him when he felt her swallow as much of him as she could in one smooth motion, her tongue massaging the underside of his shaft each time she pulled him into her mouth, her teeth lightly scraping him as she pulled back. Over and over, and he was seeing stars, uttering nonsense words in a language that tickled her ears. He had only been able to watch her for a few short seconds, the sight of her head bobbing becoming altogether too much for the Doctor and he was mewling, shouting, and suddenly seeing stars. He wanted to warn her, they always had in the videos, but as she ran her lips and tongue down his shaft and _hummed_ a soft sound of encouragement he felt every muscle in his body lock up, arching his back as the rest of him went rigid, thrusting his hips upward a bit and deeper into her mouth with his hands in her hair as he mumbled a soft "Oh..." and then was moaning and telling her too late in Gallifreyan that he was coming, coming so hard.

He could feel the suction of her throat as she swallowed around the length of him, drinking in everything he gave her and coming up with a gasp for air. He was torn between looking extremely guilty and extremely shocked, but whatever he had come up with in between had only earned a small smile from her before she fell back into the pillows, humming contentedly when he rolled over to be closer to her.

"Well, wasn't expecting that." She said softly, her eyes fluttering shut.

He grinned sleepily, turning to bury his face in her neck, tugging her to him despite the thrills of sensitivity that were crawling over his body. In this moment, he had never felt such a strong, almost primal need to possess her completely.

"Goin' to tell me what that came from?" She said with a teasing, but sleepy laugh.

"No_p_e." He said sleepily, popping the '_p_' sound with a smile, tugging her insistently towards him before he felt himself tumble quickly over the precipice of sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I hope the longer chapter made up for the wait. I haven't been feeling all that well this week and it really makes wanting to write sexy a bit hard. Thanks to EmmyBooboo for letting me bounce ideas off of her once again, and to the rest of you for your amazing reviews. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was so much longer than the others.**

**I found writing the oral sex challenging, I wanted it to be clear and crisp in your mind as you read through it. Hopefully I accomplished my goal.**

**I am dying to know what you thought of my use of pornography in this chapter, although I am prepared for a lot of people being surprised by the notion of Rose having and watching porn on her own. However, I just need you to know that girls DO watch porn and they DO masturbate, even if they don't talk about it, or won't admit it. Generally speaking, women are much less visual than men and people assume that porn videos just doesn't do it for them - however, that could not be more wrong! Good porn is relative, and when you're in the business of making porn for women, generally speaking, it is filmed with more appreciation for romance and intimacy, that's all. It's not an hour of her blowing some monster-sized guy with a pot belly, you actually get to see them going down on her for longer than half a minute, the sex is usually very hot, and the feature of the video is her orgasm, not his. I've seen some of it myself, or in the past have watched the "amateur" videos of real-life couples, because the acting and screaming always detracts from the experience for me. However, I do watch porn, just like I read and write it. I'm not embarrassed in the slightest. :P**

**Also, 'One Pot Pasta' is an amazing thing. Simple and delicious. **

**Hoping to have gotten your imaginations going. Cheers. TBW.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

It was like something from a distant dream that had been partly forgotten, an everyday life in a flat with solid and unchanging ground beneath your feet. The Doctor had lived many lives under many names in a great many places, but none of that had prepared him for the feeling of waking up every morning in the same place day in and day out and knowing - the kind of knowing you feel in your bones - that he always would.

It felt like decades had passed since he had stepped out of the TARDIS for the last time, since he had given up everything he had just to offer his single heart to the girl who had jumped through dozens of universes just to find him - well, that and the business with the stars going out, but it was mostly to find him, he was pleased to say. How long did it take to build a dimension cannon anyway? Probably for about as long as Rose had been living here, trapped in this parallel universe, if he had to guess.

And now here he was, walking the slow path with the woman he had never dared to let himself love, making _one-pot-pasta_ every Wednesday, watching the soaps Jackie Tyler had adopted and suggested in place of _EastEnders_ on the telly (Rose had cautioned him against mentioning it, saying her mother had cried for days when she had found out her favourite program did not exist in Pete's world), sleeping in a plain but comfortable bed night after night while having to rely on an external, ringing alarm clock to rudely startle him awake before he could begin a new day. This was the one adventure he had always said he could never have, and yet here he was, the Last Son of Gallifrey, wielding a dust-buster in the hopes of avoiding another lecture from Rose about eating crumbling biscuits in bed.

_Rose_.

Rose was what made this all worth it. He had taken to reminding himself of this whenever he felt those same, tastefully decorated walls closing in around him. When he feels an itch at the front of his skull, an itch he can't scratch, he tells himself that Rose makes all of it possible.

While enjoying an intimate breakfast with Rose the morning after his oral experimentation, the two of them cuddling and mock-fighting for the last of the strawberry jam, he may have mentioned that he had come across one or two things online that had inspired him to molest her in the middle of the night in order to shock her into letting go of the jar, winking at the shocked and sleep-tousled blonde as he scooped a fingerful of jam out of the jar and into his mouth. If the way she had tasted as she came apart against his mouth the night before had not been reason enough to be grinning like a fool, the way she had blushed so thoroughly that even the tips of her ears glowed red when she shrieked and hid her face in her hands had been reward enough. That and the jam, of course.

Oh, he had always loved teasing her, but he had been filled with a certain boldness lately that he thought he might have inherited from Donna in the Metacrisis, which allowed him to push her buttons in a way he had never dared to before. Delighted by the shades of pink she was cycling through when she attempted to hide her face behind her hands, he smirked as he scooped up the last sticky remnants of the jelly from the sides of the jar with his talented fingers, each of which he sucked on while cheekily waggling his eyebrows at her before she had fled the kitchen.

She had been mortified when she realized that he had been looking through her extremely personal, _not-even-looked-at-very-often-thank-you-very-much, _ collection of pornography. When she had left after breakfast rather abruptly with just a jacket tossed over her jimjams he wondered if he had gone too far, suddenly worried that all of his dedicated research and applied theories on how exactly to please Rose Tyler had only made her more uncomfortable than she was before. _Rassilon_, could he have made things worse? Leaping before he looked, that had always been his way of doing things - of course, his way of doing things in the past had never involved bringing anyone to what he thought seemed like a _spectacular_ orgasm, but that was beside the point.

He had really begun to worry when she had not returned home by the time he had gotten out of the shower and dressed himself in the denim trousers and Henley shirt he knew she liked so much. He had been pacing the living room, pulling and combing his damp hair with his fingers when he heard the lock turning in the door. He was ready for her, wearing a look of practiced repentance. He had rehearsed what he was going to say, but she had just marched in to shove a box into his arms before she headed to the bathroom to shower without a word. Blinking wide eyes, the word '_sorry_' dying on his lips, he looked down to examine the parcel she had left him with and found himself grinning eagerly. By the time she had emerged from the bathroom he had already got himself set up, a TARDIS blue laptop unfolded on the living room table, already suffering several loose panels while his sonic screwdriver sat suspiciously within reach. He looked up at her from over the screen and caught her gaze, waggled his eyebrows at her, and suddenly they were both laughing harder than they ever had since he had settled down with her in this universe.

Several days passed without their sexual exploration of each other progressing any further, but something had definitely warmed between them. Her hand between his shoulder blades whenever she stepped around him in the kitchen, his fingertips brushing across the curve of her hip or slope of her neck when he reached around her for his favourite mug. Oh, and a significant increase in desperate, passionate kisses that seemed to come out of nowhere - an increase of _eighty-three percent_ to be precice, assuming his figures were correct - sudden and desperate when he passed her in the hallway, or else deep and vocal when she interrupted his runaway gob by swallowing his words and chewing his bottom lip - random, unprovoked, and exciting snogging that had him seeing stars and craving her the way other people craved caffeine and cigarettes, his brain awash in extraordinary levels of dopamine and oxytocin. Neither of them mentioned it, not even when they broke apart and hurriedly smoothed out their clothing and patted down their hair. It was lovely.

Yes. Rose. Rose made all of this worth it, all of it possible. As days turned to weeks he found himself having to repeat his mantra less and less, his time more often spent looking forward to the time she usually came home from work, or to the time spent cooking together in the kitchen, or watching telly in their jimjams, or to the time spent clinging breathily to each other after stumbling halfway into the linen cupboard.

Torchwood had kept her busy since she had returned rather unexpectedly to this universe (with one half-alien git of a Timelord in tow), giving him one more reason to resent the looming tower to the east, simply because he missed her during the day. He had already completely dismantled, rewired and rebuilt the laptop she had given him, and had plans for the toaster, but knowing she wouldn't approve, he suffered a few days of remarkable self control before he gave in and tinkered with that before '_improving_' the rest of the kitchen as well. He had reprogrammed his sonic and wondered about possible modifications that would sort out the mess he had made of the appliances, but that would require a trip to Torchwood, and he was not keen on visiting.

Days later, the Doctor had run out of things to do, appliances to tweak, and telly to watch. Rose is worried for him, says he's climbing the walls despite the way he rolls his eyes. He assures her that he is muddling through, but he can tell she has her doubts.

On a Monday when she was insistent about asking what he had gotten up to during the day over the phone, a familiar tone of reproach and concern colouring her voice, he answered with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, well, you know, the usual jiggery-pokery. Masturbation. Lots of tea."

She knows when he is baiting her and only blushes a little (disappointing, but still pretty, or at least that is what he imagines her doing) before waving him off with firm instructions on leaving the flat. Get out more, she says. Get a life, she says - but he already has a life, hasn't he? Baffled by her instructions and why it seemed to matter to her so much, the Doctor could only nod his assent and mutter some assurances into the receiver until she was satisfied. He would do as she asked.

It had been that conversation and his need to explore the possibility of nicking a few things in order to tinker a little more effectively, as well as finally get started on the nurturing of his infant TARDIS, that had led him to stand just outside the wide, double doors of Torchwood Tower - or rather, he was loitering outside Torchwood-One, wasn't he? Without the disaster of Canary Wharf to warn the rest of the world to be less trusting of the shadowy organization, there were now more than a few satellite bases littered across the globe. Despite all her assurances and how happy Rose seemed to be, he can't help but worry about it.

While he had never actually seen the front doors to the massive, impressive building - he had landed his TARDIS inside to avoid security when he and Rose had set out to investigate the wandering ghosts who turned out not to be ghosts at all, not that it had worked - he still found them to be imposing. The last time he had found himself a wandering prisoner of Torchwood Tower he had helplessly watched so many people die, butchered and corrupted and beyond help, and more importantly, he had lost Rose for what he was sure was forever. And now here he was, what felt like two years later to him and nearly three years for her, gazing up at the monolithic tribute to human curiosity and grandiose entitlement, and he wondered how Rose was able to walk through these doors each day without flinching.

He must have been standing there for a good long while, an hour at least, before a portly looking man in a uniform waved a hand in his face, his boisterous, Scottish greeting apparently not enough to catch the attention of the thought-wandering Doctor. When he had, the Doctor offered him a big smile and dug through his pockets to retrieve his psychic paper - he had always kept a spare, right along with a beta version of his sonic - and was ushered in past the doors as a very important, greatly anticipated, _frankly brilliant_ freelance analyst that had been called to Torchwood in order to give them a bit of direction.

Of course, he could have flashed his illusionary credentials as soon as he had arrived, but he hadn't been hesitating because of that. No, he was hesitating because this is where he had lost Rose to a parallel universe, and some irrational and desperate voice in the back of his head was screaming about nonsensical paradoxes, exaggerated risks, or else reminded him that when it came to humans on any planet, history always seemed to find a way to repeat itself in some form or another, and he did not doubt that the same trend existed in this universe. Wouldn't it be just his luck if some alien threat reared it's ugly head and he ended up losing her again?

He had thought he was hearing his own voice spouting warnings and worries and monologues, but realized instead that it was the Doctor - the _other Doctor_ - that was yelling inside his head. These were the concerns he would have had if it were him back in the TARDIS, in his native universe, not at all human, and essentially immortal. Last of the Timelords, the Oncoming Storm, the Savior and Destroyer of worlds alike, that sort of responsibility did not leave much room for inner peace and hoping for the best.

Still, he could not simply loiter in front of the building without people noticing, asking awkward questions he would not know how to answer, and he had never really been keen on taking his own advice or following his own rules anyway, so he had slipped on the guise of an expected and _frankly brilliant_ VIP just as he might have a favourite old jacket and strode through the flawless glass doors and into the atrium.

Everything was the same, aside from a lack of guns being shoved in his face. There were still uniformed men and women with guns, but they were holstered and not aimed in the direction of his single beating heart, so he supposed that was a marked improvement. The same, all of it, right down to the colour scheme and furniture. The Doctor had never doubted that it would not be different, but it was strangely off-putting all the same.

Stepping onto the lift, he flashed his blank identification one more time for a handful of people with guns before punching a button and closing his eyes as the platform shuddered into motion, he took a few deep breaths before he was brought to the floor where he knew he would find Rose's office and the modest lab she worked in, hesitating for one brief moment before he took one long step off the lift and into the corridor.

He could not help but notice and compare the scenery, remembering all too vividly that the parallel lab in his universe had been hidden by sheets of plastic and signs labeled _'WARNING: Construction'_ by newly-made Cybermen who were discreetly converting anyone passing by and he could not help but shiver, thinking how strange it was to see it out in the open now, well lit and clean and well equipped from the looks of the shining equipment, complete with large laser atomizers, polar destabilizers, magna-cells containing isolated, refracted lightwaves, what looked like a familiar dimension cannon, and the most amazing, _gorgeous_ quantum electron microscope he had ever seen.

Of course, if he wanted to see more, he first had to flash his psychic paper absentmindedly at the two guards that had been posted to secure the entrance to a floor that required elite and uncommon, high clearance. They accepted his credentials without a word and then he was cleared to wander and seek out Rose.

He wondered if she would be glad to see him, or if she would consider this a bit of an invasion of privacy just showing up without notice, or perhaps think he was being dishonest and disrespectful towards the company she had worked with so closely for nearly three years, even though she had seen him use (or abuse) his psychic paper more times than he could count. Half-human Timelord hybrid he may be, but he was still very much rude, and not ginger. While he prepared himself for any number of unpleasant reactions, he held onto the hope that they might end up suddenly snogging in her office, or perhaps up against one of those amazing polar destabilizers.

Rose knew how he felt about Torchwood and had long since given up mentioning all the good they had done in this universe, but despite all his pouting he had been listening and considering all that was said whenever she brought it up. The fact that most of the armed men had their guns holstered rather than cocked and trained on anyone lacking a security badge was encouraging and spoke volumes to him. Passing a number of happy, driven, and professional looking employees in the corridor he felt his resentment waver and had to admit that the whole operation seemed very much as safe and forward thinking as Rose had made it out to be. And good old Pete Tyler was the head hauncho, wasn't he? That had certainly helped to put Rose's mind at ease when she had first been recruited, but it gave little comfort to the Doctor; as much as he loved Rose and was thrilled that she now had the chance at having a proper family, the fact of the matter was that _he_ did not know Pete Tyler very well and therefore could not trust him completely, not with something as big and as dangerous as Torchwood, especially with her welfare hanging in the balance.

Continuing his stroll, he lingered in every doorway and peeked through every window, ignoring the stares of strangers as he looked for Rose, as well as to check to ensure that nothing untoward was casually occurring behind closed doors. Satisfied with most of what he had come across, the Doctor made a mental note to be more accommodating of his amazingly patient flat-mate and her choice of profession in the future, and decided to let her know once he had reached her office that he had been surprised, _pleasantly surprised_, by everything he had come across so far and that he might fancy a proper tour headed in the direction of the many labs, if she was up for it.

And then suddenly he could feel it, taste it even, the air he was breathing suddenly acrid and stale as he tripped over his own feet.

It hit him like a bolt of cold, crackling lightning paired with a serrated blade stuck between his shoulder blades, sudden and so swift it took his breath away. Without any warning, his good mood and grip on reality was torn violently from him, his single heart skipping a beat before thudding hard and irregularly against the cage of his ribs. When he came upon that room he was sure that he had sensed it before he had even come close enough to see it and he wondered why he had not even considered that he might stumble across the large, abandoned space when he had first been wrestling with the idea of showing up at Torchwood Tower unannounced and without an escort.

Had it been on this floor in the other universe? He couldn't remember, or at least that is what he told himself as he approached the heavy door. Trying the handle, he found that it was locked and considered turning back and continuing on his way to find Rose, but it was as if he was suddenly wading through quick-dry cement. Another deep breath, he seemed to need so many of those today, and he gave the lock a very discreet buzz from his tweaked sonic screwdriver before slipping the gadget back up his shirt sleeve and reached to twist the cool titanium handle and push into the room.

Even in the dark, it was obvious that nobody had been in here for quite some time, every surface dulled by a thick layer of dust. Not even the janitorial staff came in here, by the looks of it. She had kept them out, hadn't she? Could she do that? He realized as he slipped inside and let the door shut carefully behind him that he had no idea as to what _exactly_ Rose did for Torchwood. He knew she had done well for herself, and that she was well respected and successful in her field - whatever that was - but that was about it. Did his Rose really have so much clout that she could seal off entire Torchwood labs indefinitely? He winced, a pang of guilt ripping through him as he wandered forward, pointing his sonic in the direction of one small desk lamp that was laying on it's side before continuing his approach.

As much as it was a painful place to have rediscovered on his own, he began to wonder how she was able to walk past this empty space every day without completely falling apart. His best guess was that she simply had not been able to let go of it when she had first arrived in this world, or even after he had managed to cock up his desperate and final farewell. If she had allowed this room to be cleaned and staffed and used for something else it would mean she was saying goodbye to all of it, goodbye to _him_, and putting all that hurt behind her, which she clearly had not been ready for; the dimension cannon that he had seen locked up in the lab he passed before he found himself in this room was proof enough of that.

Even with a thick coating of dust, the Doctor easily recognized the yellow discs that were scattered across the floor. Dead and lifeless, the transporters had been abandoned by the displaced family after they had dragged a hysterical Rose out of this room and into a world where she did not belong. Crouching, with his arms balanced on the tops of his knees, he reached down to retrieve one and blew hard over the surface of the disc before scrubbing the rest of the dust away on the back of his sleeve. They were dead, rendered completely inert thanks to him sealing the last of the few rifts and cracks between universes all those years ago. They were just pieces of plastic now, useless junk that he had only been distracting himself with. He had not come in here because of the lifeless transporter discs lying on the floor. He had come to see the _wall_.

And oh, it was awful to look upon. High and imposing, painted a harsh and unsullied shade of blue-toned white that had come to paint everything in his dreams whenever he dared to sleep in that first year after losing her, and then sporadically after that. This wall was the same wall that he had stood in front of for several minutes after she had been stolen from him, until he had gotten over the initial shock of what just happened and gave his respiratory bypass a much needed rest, allowing himself a few shallow breaths before leaning into it. The wall had been a backdrop for the exposed Void, which made short work out of the invading Cybermen and Dalek armies, the violent gales coming from the howling Breach consuming anything and everything that had been coated in what the Doctor aptly named _'Void Stuff'_; a threat to anything and anyone who had travelled in time or between universes, the Breach sucked in and shredded all affected matter into nothingness, and that had very nearly included Rose as well.

Having lived a long life that was written in chapters of tragedy and loss, it had become more his style to wordlessly accept the recent undesirable turn of events, whatever they they might have been, knowing better than anyone that he could do nothing to change what had happened. It was better to move on quickly and quietly, that's what he told himself. With his dark eyes seeming slightly more hollow than before, he would just start running, not ever allowing himself to stop long enough to grieve. Running was in his nature, he had always been too much of a coward to even attempt to endure whatever calamity had befallen him, but his many losses had forged a heavy chain that he carried with him through all of time and space just as surely as he carried his sonic screwdriver, and it had begun to slow him down.

That time had been different though. That time, he had lost too much. As the Breach collapsed in on itself and he had pulled himself up off the floor and onto his feet, he could feel the weight of one more link being forged and added to that chain and the weight of it seemed to drag him out of Time itself.

All of Time had seemed to lag around him, the brilliant, golden wisps of timelines seeming to bleed incoherently all around him. Reeling from the intensity of the assault on his senses, he had needed to stay where he was and endure the rawness of a few painful minutes as a fixed point in time was shaped and sealed before his eyes. He had been frozen in his grief until he resumed the pace of a Time Lord and gasped as his lungs contracted and spasmed back into action. There had been no running away from this particular tragedy, no way to rationalize and accept what had happened, and there was nothing and nobody left to console him. In that moment he had been convinced that Rose's link would be the last to be woven into his strangling chains, the accumulation of centuries of tragedy being cinched around his throat so tightly he could no longer breathe without choking. With the weight of that last fetter forged and bound to the shackles of his loss, he had been sure for a long time after the events of Canary Wharf that he would be crushed beneath the weight of it.

Even now, having found their way back to each other and loving each other honestly and completely, he had not been able to escape it. Although she came home to him every night, all bright eyes, warm smiles, and small, beautiful hands tangled in his hair, he could still feel the weight of that chain hanging heavily over his shoulders.

He walked towards the wall at the same pace he had used when he had walked away from it all those years ago, his shoulders square, jaw tight, and hands shoved deep in his pockets. It had felt like a long walk, he remembered each heavy step vividly as he brought himself closer and closer until he stood directly in front of it, time seeming to drag by him in slow, familiar rivulets that made his time senses ache and itch at the front of his skull. Shivering, he brought a hand up to tentatively explore the smooth expanse of the wall before he leaned into it, having to suck in a shuddering breath as he pressed his ear and cheek against the cold surface, the onslaught of memories and emotions having effectively paralyzed him.

The cracks had all been in the process of sealing by the time he had got there but he could have sworn that he could _sense_ Rose as if she was just on the other side of that wall, calling and waiting for a man that would never come for her. It could have been his imagination, so desperate not to have had to feel her presence abruptly cease to _be_ in his universe, and he had needed that stretching distance to keep him grounded as grief and panic swept over him in relentless waves. Had she been pressed up against the wall in her new universe, hoping against hope that she could still feel him close to her as well? She was only human, her senses dull and limited, and the few she had lacked definition and the potency of his perceptive inputs. Still, there had been something that had pulled him towards the wall and encouraged him to press his ear tightly against the cool surface and he had liked to think that she had been able to sense how close he was in those few precious minutes it took for the rifts and cracks of each universe to begin mending. He couldn't be sure and he did not know how to ask her, or even that he should, but somehow he thought he knew. He and Rose had always had something special, something that made her feel so close even when she was far away. He knew she felt that too.

That same sense of closeness had alerted him to the presence of his favourite human before he had even turned around, before she could say anything, before the door had been shut behind her. She was hesitating in the doorway, chewing her bottom lip he'd be willing to bet, and could only watch as the Doctor modelled how he had reacted when he was sure he lost her for good. Of course, she could not be sure that he had reacted precisely this way when this wall had first been put between them, she had been a universe away at that point, but seeing him behaving like this now only made her more sure than ever that he had lingered as long as he could just as she had suspected, holding onto her presence until it faded away, just as she had done for him.

There had been a moment that had caused her heart to skip a beat, her sobs dying in her throat as she pressed herself as close as she could to the wall that she had been beating with her small fists; her face had been streaked with inky tears, her breath coming in shallow rasps as she pressed her bruised palms tightly against the wall, but that had all fallen away as she desperately held on to that uncanny feeling of the Doctor being so close to her. It had given her hope, had convinced her somehow that being able to feel him like that meant that he was coming for her. Remembering that moment would send chills down her spine, that particular horror made excruciatingly pervasive by the knowledge of surviving long enough to die in one world, just to be reborn on another.

"Somehow I knew I'd find you here." Rose said quietly, her tone low and uncharacteristically somber.

"And how did you know I was coming?" The Doctor said with a bit of a sigh as he pushed himself away from the wall, taking a step back to stare at his outstretched fingertips that ghosted over the surface. "It was meant to be a surprise."

"Well," There was a note of amusement in her voice as she approached him, the clicking of her heels keeping perfect time with the beating of his heavy heart. "I was notified, see. A strange man walkin' around as if he belonged here, they said, flashin' what looked like a wrinkled shred of psychic paper."

He offered her a brief smile as she came to stand alongside him, her hazel-brown eyes fixed on the wall in front of them, his eyebrows raised as he considered what she said. "They knew it was psychic paper? Blimey. Well, new universe, different levels of perception I suppose. Going to be a lot harder to nip in to the theater to see a film, eh? We'll have to start standing in line, waiting our turn."

"Nothing as _devastatin_' as all that! No, s'just part of the training everyone in Torchwood receives, from field agents to file clerks."

Her laughter sounded hollow and strange as it was played with by the acoustics of the room, not at all the same warm and full bodied warble he was used to. Shifting his weight as he turned slightly on his heel, he dragged his gaze down the length of her body and back up again, feeling oddly compelled to take her all in while she stood so close to the wall that had haunted his dreams for so long.

All buttons and ruffles, shocking heels, and a devasating skirt, she was neatly dressed for work, every article of clothing looking foreign and strange on a girl he was used to seeing in faded denim or boldly wrapped in the Union Jack - not that he minded terribly, distracted and bemused by the strange way the couture suited her. She had always been beautiful, but she emanated confidence and professionalism in a surprisingly appealing way, looking coy and demure in the soft colours and even softer material. Fancy buttons strained at the suggestive peak of her bosom, her arms left bare to contrast the filmy, crème coloured top that hinted at the silhouette of her small waistline. A pencil skirt the colour of golden champagne intimately hugged the curve of her hips, drawing scandalous attention to the slope and curves of her rear and long runner's legs that ended in delicate, light pink-beige pumps.

With her hair drawn up in a sleek, simple chignon he realized for the first time that she had coloured it differently since coming to this world; gone now was the all over yellow-blonde and dark roots from the past, the bottled-blonde upgraded to highlights of rich gold and crème anglaise, made brighter by champagne lowlights that matched her impossibly narrow, fitted skirt. Completely impractical in every way, he was sure that he should not have liked the way she had made herself up as much as he did, he had rarely noticed her hair and clothing before, but was instead letting his gaze linger a little too long on every accentuated curve.

She'd be rubbish at running in this sultry outfit, but the way her hips swayed with every step she took more than made up for that, he thought.

Standing so close to him in the gloom of this neglected room he could not help but stare, feeling almost in awe of just how beautiful and impossible she was. When she reached to press her hand against the wall the way he had earlier he felt his heart thud painfully, and he reached to grasp her wrist and pull her hand away from the wall with a growl.

"How can you stand to be _near_ it?" He said hotly, his eyebrows arching high as she turned to face him, not bothering to try and pretend to be oblivious to spare his feelings, although she left her hand in his. The hint of a small, sad smile played across her lips. "Your office, your lab, you - you're just down the hall."

"Last door on the left." She agreed, that same small smile curling her lips upwards in a way that quickened the angry pace of his heart.

"You walk past it every day, sealed and untouched and gathering dust like some sort of... Tomb. Shrine." He said tersely, his free hand waving rigid gestures in regards to the room around them.

"Hm, 'spose so. Locked the doors m'self. I've got the only key." She added, her neutral gaze remaining level and even with his despite the fire in his eyes. "S'not hurtin' anythin'."

"It is! It's dangerous!" He could feel his temper beginning to bubble at the surface of his conscious mind, his teeth grinding loudly once she had turned her attention back to the wall.

"S'just a wall now, there is no connection whatsoever. And even if there were, I have the only key, and I was not about to open it for anybody."

He boggled at her, his dark eyes the colour of chilled brandy in a snifter of ice, sharp and cold. Releasing his grip on her wrist, he reached up to comb and tug at his hair, molding his fringe into lopsided, upward sweeping waves as he began pacing. The slapping of the soles of his trainers on the marbled floor teased at the deafening silence that had grown between them, setting his ears to ringing.

The other side of the wall, the one he had known in their original universe, had been left in ruins that would eventually be torn down and paved over. Glass and debris and scattered pieces of destroyed alien technology had been all that was left when the Void had sucked all that it could into oblivion before folding in on itself, and it was a mess nobody would be keen to clean up for quite some time. To see that same room preserved and perfect underneath a fine coating of dust was... _Unsettling_, at the very least.

It had taken every ounce of courage that he had in this hybrid body to sonic the door and stagger in with the taste of bile burning the back of his throat, and she had breezed in here with her heels clicking, calm and beautiful and steady inside and out, as if this room had not meant the end of the world for the two of them. In the space of a fraction of a second he wondered if he was wrong, if he had somehow been mistaken and presumptuous, and that maybe this room had only meant the end of the world to _him_? No, he knew better than that. His nerves were getting the better of him. Standing in the shadow of this wall was playing tricks on his mind.

As if she could sense the chaos of emotions that were simmering below the surface of his stoic expression, she reached out to entwine her fingers in his, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"This place... It was all I had once I got here. I'd wake up sometimes and forget where I was, wouldn't want to admit that I had lost you... Mum and Mickey, well, they had to drag me here more than once." She explained in a soft voice, turning her attention to the wall that loomed above them as she squeezed his hand a little tighter than was comfortable. "And then I realized I couldn't _feel_ you anymore. I was a right handful. Lost my head a bit, I did. After that, it sort of became just a wall over time, but that doesn't mean..." She trailed off, a bit of a tremor in her voice giving her away even before she had turned her warm gaze up at him, watching him through thick, painted lashes, the gold flecks in her eyes shimmering as a bit of moisture threatened the integrity of her mascara. "Once I had put my papers in for Torchwood, my father, he found a place for me and I locked it all up. Coudn't bear to see it changed, even after..."

"Bad Wolf Bay." He finished for her, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in small circles.

"Yeah." She rasped, her tongue poking out between her teeth as she flashed him the bravest, saddest smile he had ever seen.

He couldn't help himself then, completely in awe of this pink and yellow girl who had become so good at masking her grief, putting on a brave face as easily as she pulled on her jacket every morning before she left for work. His arms tight around her waist, he crushed the soft contours of her body into the hard planes of his, his fingers curling in the delicate fabric of her blouse as her arms slid over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

He was kissing her the way she had kissed him on the beach, the way he had dreamed of kissing her every time he closed his eyes for so long after he had burned up a sun just to say goodbye. He had been a coward even then, some superior part of his Time Lord brain aware of how quickly those three minutes ticked by while she reached out desperately to touch him, pouring her heart out to him as the connection began to weaken. He had only plucked up the courage to tell her what she needed to hear, what she _deserved_ to be told, when it was suddenly too late. Regret had seared her name across his two hearts in that moment, and while he was certain that she knew which words he uttered to the empty space within his TARDIS as the dying sun winked out just outside his doors, he was so _ashamed_. Just like that, his Rose blinked out of existence. Alone in the TARDIS, the Doctor had nearly _choked_ on the sensation of time running out, leaving him so alone with all that was left unsaid.

Her lips were soft and yielding against his, her mouth warm and welcoming as his tongue found hers, coaxing her into a battle for dominance that he somehow found himself the winner of. She was a warm bundle of tension in his arms, gasping and whimpering kittenish sounds every time her teeth clicked against his, or his tongue curled and scraped over hers. This kiss was his, his to control and to conquer and sustain as he turned her on the narrow heels of her pumps before he backed her into the wall. The knot in her hair came loose in his hands as he raked his fingers from her temples to the base of her neck, the subtle scent of her shampoo seeming to flood his every olfactory receptor as waves of gold and yellow fell in a sheet over his hands and down over her shoulders.

When his lungs began to burn with the frustrating need for oxygen he leaned back, marvelling at the sight of her pressed so tightly against the wall, her lips kiss-swollen and parted, her talented tongue peeking from between her teeth as she sucked in a few shallow breaths while she could. Her eyes had turned the colour of whiskey, so bright that he could count the precise number of golden flecks in each iris.

"Seventeen." He said breathily, his voice low and husky as he impatiently waited for his lungs to stop spasming and fill with the air this inefficient body needed so desperately.

"Wha'?" The combination of her thick London accent and her laboured breathing was devastating, the tail-end consonant of her question lost at the tip of her tongue, earning a growl from deep in the back of his throat as he leaned into her again, this time allowing his mouth to trail along the slope of her long, graceful neck until his teeth found the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

He was delighted by the combination of his teeth and tongue and lips roaming over her exposed skin, which allowed him to take in frequent, shallow breaths to keep him going. As much as he enjoyed kissing her - and oh, he enjoyed that very much - he found that he loved the way she tilted her head to the side in order to expose more of her neck to him, and lived for the sound of her breathy whimpers and sighs that would otherwise have been captured and muffled by his mouth.

The feeling of her fingers tangled in his hair was enjoyable, but not quite as enjoyable as the feeling of her wrists creaking as he pushed them firmly into the wall, his palms flat and unyielding against hers. She struggled a bit, more surprised than anything by the abrupt shift in his behaviour, but the way she was panting did not give him any doubt as to whether or not she wanted him to continue.

The sound of her surprise had ignited something in him, one small spark that flashed and lit up his darkness as he reached between them to peel the cinched hem of her skirt up over her knees, shoving them up over her thighs until the material bit lightly into the toned curve of her stockinged legs, just high enough for him to nudge her knees apart, and just far enough to allow him to press one of his legs between hers. Bending slightly at the knee for leverage, he reached for the curve of her hip that he knew fit his hand so well and flashed her a smile she would recognize from their time in the TARDIS, just before he would throw the door open with the promise of adventure, grinning wider as he guided her gently downwards until she was closely straddling his leg, her thighs tightening around him until he had her shyly grinding her warmth into him.

Her torso lifted from the wall to press into him, the arch of her back bringing her closer in the few moments that he had taken to reposition her hands so that he could hold them folded at the wrist above her head. He grinned at the sound of her whimper as he leaned further away before he replaced the weight of his body with the roaming of his free hand, his fingers splayed across her belly before he allowed them to glide up over the swell of her left breast, squeezing just shy of too tightly to encourage the hardening peak that was weakly shielded by her blouse and bra. He could feel her heartbeat as he pressed his palm into the globe of flesh, marvelling at how strong each beat felt against his hand even as he nudged her breast from side to side.

His fingers were gentle as they slipped beneath the waist band of her skirt, the silky material of her blouse spilling over the hollow of her hips with little help from him. Round, pearl buttons popped easily from each sewn slit that was hidden beneath a ruffle of decorative satin, his fingers plucking at just enough until the swell of her chest was exposed to him, rising and falling freely, peeking from between curtains of delicate chiffon. Gauzy, crème-coloured fabric hugged the contours of her breasts, each remarkable demi-cup devoid of any padding or wire. Light and sheer, he could see a hint of each pink areaola at the center of her breasts, teasing him even before he had dared to slide his fingers over soft material that did nothing to hide the stiff rise of her small nipples. A thin black ribbon was threaded through the hem of each cup, meeting between her breasts and forming a decorative bow that framed and tickled the inward slope of her cleavage, so delightfully and frivolously _human_.

Murmuring words of praise as he kissed and licked and pressed his teeth into the pebbled peak of each breast through the airy cups of her bra, he squeezed her wrists a little tighter as he marvelled at the feeling of the lace scraping against his tongue. There was something enticing and infuriating at the sight of her so very exposed and yet hidden from his wandering gaze when he had been so sure that he would always want and prefer her entirely naked. Nearly a thousand years traveling through time and space and countless worlds, and the thrill of lingerie had taken him so completely by surprise that he found he had been holding his breath.

"I - I thought I'd lost you. _My_ Doctor."

She spoke so softly that he wondered if he had imagined her speaking at all, but the haunted depth in her eyes and wetness of her lashes had flickered through the heated look of her arousal just long enough for him to witness before she had shut her eyes tightly, a flash of pink gliding over her bottom lip as she took in a shuddering breath and arched gracefully into his hand and rocked her hips down against the knee between her thighs.

It had felt like an eternity the last time he had stood so close to this wall, time seeming to stretch and tear around him as he searched for the waning sensation of her presence through the swiftly retracting Void. He had hoped never to see it again, and yet here he stood with his Rose half-stripped of her clothing and writhing against that same wall, her feelings of complete and total abandon frighteningly _contagious_.

He had just pushed the damp, salivia-saturated material of her bra over her pale breasts, the taste of one petite, rosey nipple on his tongue as he leaned in to roll the other between his teeth when he felt the graceful arch of her back freeze as she grew stiff all over. He could practically taste the pounding of her heart through the swell of her breasts both in his mouth and in his cupped hand, the heat between her legs burning through the dampness that came from her grinding her hips against the rigid surface of his thigh. The sound of blood rushing in his ears had drowned out the sound of alarm as she hissed his name against the shell of his ear, allowing him to choose to focus on the feeling of her hot breath against his skin instead. She wriggled against him with a low moan as he pressed his leg stubbornly against her damp but covered sex, her whispers coming quicker and louder than before.

Her wide eyes and look of bashful urgency brought him back to himself when he had attempted to capture her mouth in another searing kiss and missed, and he groaned against her temple and into her hair as reality came crashing down around him.

Her hands on his chest were too gentle to have come from a woman desperate to put a stop to what they were doing, which only encouraged and confused him further. Opening his mouth to complain, he caught the end of a message ringing from unseen speakers all around them. Her name sounded flat and tinny over the intercom, and he was pleased to see her glowering in the direction of the door as she reached to smooth the front of his collar with shaking hands, her fingers clumsy as she patted the wrinkles of his shirt down as best she could, skimming the mostly intact buttons with kiss-swollen, pouting lips.

"They're calling a code. They'll come looking for me before long." She bit her bottom lip, gazing up at him through the veil of her lashes as she smiled shyly up at him as she quickly pulled her blouse together before shoving her narrow skirt down over her thighs, but not before he could press and rock his knee against the slick friction of her very, very wet knickers. "I wish I could. Mmmm, _Doctor_, I... - 'm sorry."

He could only nod at her, his lungs burning as he took the time to catch his breath, a foolish grin spreading across his face as he watched her sort out her clothing. He pulled her in close in a warm embrace, burying his face in her hair for as long as he could before she began to laugh and struggle against him as she leaned in the direction of the door.

"I know, I know. Duty calls." He muttered into the soft, fragrant waves of her unbound hair, his fingers trailing up and down her spine before he allowed her to take a few steps back, pleased with the sight of her flushed and breathless and not nearly as neatly made up as she had been before she had found him in here. His heart skipped a beat just as it found a natural rhythm when she allowed her tongue to peek between her teeth teasingly.

"Oh Doctor, you look a mess!" She giggled as she combed through her hair with her fingers, pulling it into a loose knot at the base of her neck in an effort to tame the tousled waves that stubbornly remained looking very much as though he had just had his hands fisted in her hair. She reached towards him, her tongue-touched grin seeming unfairly provocative as she tugged the bottom of his shirt out from under the waistband of his trousers, letting the tails of his button-down hide just how worked up she had gotten him. "Can't take you anywhere, superior Timelord or not. _Nothin_' discreet 'bout you."

He quirked one heavy brow, his expression placid as he caught her right hand before she could walk away and tugged her roughly towards him, her laughter punctuated by the stumbling clicking of her heels.

"And what about _you_, Rose Tyler?" He said in a low voice, leaning in close enough to bump her nose with his as he pressed her warm hand firmly against his thigh, grinning as he watched her brilliant blush spread from her round cheeks to the tips of her ears. Running his fingers down over the length of hers, he made sure that she could feel every inch of the damp spot low on his trousers, dark and painfully obvious just above his right knee. "Do _you_ think anyone will _notice_?"

He left her standing there, her face flushed an impressive crimson, her kiss-swollen mouth left hanging open, a cry of embarrassment dying in the back of her throat as she hurried to catch up. With his hands shoved deep in his pockets in order to diminish the straining of the front of his pants, he called over his shoulders for her to hurry up, knowing he would have settled down long before the suspicious wet spot on his trousers could dry and fade, not the least bit embarrassed or doubting what curious onlookers would make of it when he had an untidy, pink and gold Rose Tyler clutching at his hand as she cursed the pumps she had chosen that morning.

She'd definitely be rubbish at running in her sultry and now disheveled outfit, but the provocative sway of her hips would likely not be enough to draw attention away from the clumsy, mismatched buttons that left _just enough_ of the ruffled material open to show off one tiny_, frivolous_ black ribbon that was tied between her lace-clad breasts.

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**A/N: ****Here it is, at long last. I've been very ill for most of July and have been trapped in a hospital for a second extended stay. Unfortunately, painkillers and illness make writing smut a little harder than usual. When a girl can't get her own motor going, it's hard to imagine how she might accomplish that for her readers. Edited to clarify some angst and dirty details, as well as to add a few extra bits in regarding the weight of his loss.  
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**The last chapter was intensely sexual and rather successful if I do say so myself, so I wanted to follow that up with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, or a sonic! It's quite a long chapter as well, and I'm hoping that the length and amount of teasing is enough to get you inspired and wound up for the next chapter.**

**I really, really want to bring this story over to Tumblr (even though I don't have any followers - same username as here, by the way! TARDIS-BadWolf ;D) but I am not sure how to create a comprehensive post that I could have a title picture, a short description, and then a list of chapter numbers that you can click to be redirected to the selected chapter. I've seen other authors use this template, but I've got no idea how to make it. If you've got any handy Tumblr skills, you should PM me!**

******I am at a point in 'What I Am' where I am eagerly looking forward to receiving some reviews, especially when you've got suggestions or requests on what you want to see, be that regular content or exploring a specific sexual possibility for Rose and her Doctor.**

**If you have an idea or fantasy that you want to see come to life in my story, please leave me a review and/or a PM. Cheers. TBW.**


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